The Weight of an Oath
by Emrys1
Summary: Sheppard and his team stumble across a society that may have had some connections with the Ancients. Shepwhumping. ShepMcKay friendship. Warning: Some colorful language present in various chapters. IT'S FINISHED! YAHOO!
1. Chapter 1

Title: The Weight of an Oath 

Author: Emrys

Rating: I'm going to say for teenagers.

Warnings: None right now. Maybe language later on.

Spoilers: Poisoning the Well; Aurora; possibly Trinity

Summary: Sheppard and his team stumble upon a society that may have connections with the Ancients.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything! Especially not any of the characters or situations regarding Stargate Atlantis. Please don't sue! I'm serious…I don't own anything!

Author's Note:

Okay, so I was going to keep this one under my hat for a bit, but I've been reading the Harry Potter books since August, and I just finished the latest one this afternoon. After investing many months with the characters, having them suddenly gone on vacation has made me feel….well…. off (For many reasons. If you've read the latest book you know what I mean. But I'm also saddled with the dilemma of what to read next! I actually slowed down my reading of the Harry Potter books, because I didn't want them to end. Since they're done for now, I don't know what to do!). Anyway, I opted to distract myself by posting this new fic.

This follows my other SGA story, Iron String. It might be helpful to read that first, but not necessary.

Additionally, I want to thank Titan5 for all of her encouraging words. This one's for you!

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'Solon gave the following advice: "Consider your honor, as a gentleman, of more weight than an oath. Never tell a lie. Pay attention to matters of importance."'

_ Solon as quoted by Diogenes Laertius_

"It's absolutely amazing, Elizabeth! This is the first world we've discovered in Pegasus with a level of technology that is equivalent to our own! Usually the Wraith wipe out a population before they reach this advanced state, but these guys are smart! Really smart! They've managed to survive the Wraith _and_ maintain their scientific records, so that their technical knowledge has not been lost between cullings. Really, it's an extraordinary accomplishment! And, most interesting of all, their technology bears a distinct resemblance to that of the Ancients! Since their historical origins are unclear, I'm not able to determine if they actually are descended from the Ancients or if they simply stumbled across the technology in much the same way that we have. But if you give me the time to make some more observations, I may be able to figure it out. And that would be a really, really good thing, because, I mean, it's…it's just incredible!" Rodney ended his energized chattering with a broad smile and a quick, animated gesture of his hand.

"If you haven't noticed, Rodney's a little excited," Sheppard informed Elizabeth.

"I've noticed," Elizabeth responded with an amused look. "But what do they want?"

"The same things that we do!" McKay exclaimed exaltedly. "They want us to combine our knowledge so that we can make greater advances in our scientific and technological fields."

"They also want to be our allies against the Wraith," Sheppard added before Rodney could get too enthusiastic. The briefing would last all afternoon otherwise.

"They claim only to want to help us in our own endeavors," Teyla added, but there was a note of doubt in her voice that made Elizabeth take notice.

"Claim?" she asked.

"Teyla doesn't trust them," Sheppard responded immediately.

"Neither do I," stated Ronan who up to this point had appeared not to be interested in the conversation.

"Neither does Ronan," Sheppard added frivolously.

Personally he was confused by the two warriors' points of view. He had sensed no reason to be alarmed by the convivial people of Nethas, and he wondered if the level of technology they had all witnessed on the planet had overwhelmed Teyla and Ronan. But after all, the Athosian and Satedan had been living on Atlantis for quite some time, so John thought that being intimidated by the Netharian technology was an odd explanation for Teyla and Ronan's reticence. Consequently, he had taken his two teammate's distrust seriously despite his own confidence in the Netharian's neighborly attitude.

"You're just not used to that level of technology," Rodney stated dismissively and echoed John's thoughts in the process.

Sheppard saw Ronan's face cloud and Teyla's astonished look. The Athosian leader's expression hardened as she indicated the technology around her.

"I have become accustomed to living with technology, Dr. McKay," Teyla said calmly, her voice belying her stony expression.

"Yes, yes of course you have," Rodney replied, hurriedly. He did not want to dwell on the unquantified emotions of his two teammates.

"They are too friendly," said Ronan forcefully and thereby interrupted the exchange.

"They _are_ awfully friendly," Sheppard agreed. He again used an amused tone in an attempt to keep the argument he saw building between his team from escalating.

"And what is your opinion, Colonel?" Elizabeth asked while carefully studying the team members seated around the conference room.

"They are friendly," Sheppard responded, this time seriously. "And they have a lot to offer us. But I can't just dismiss Ronan and Teyla's concerns out of hand," he added when he saw Rodney throw a smug look at his two teammates. "They've been right too many times in the past. I recommend that we continue our negotiations with the Netharians, but that no other personnel should be sent with us yet. Rodney is more than capable of dealing with the scientific end of things, and the rest of us can make a determination as to whether or not Citizen Setarcos has ulterior motives."

Elizabeth considered Sheppard's recommendations carefully but knew that she would have made the same proposals in his stead. Her only concern was that Sheppard still looked pale and tired from his bout with the strange illness that had affected him after his return from the Aurora. It had been a month since his release from the infirmary, but there remained an aura of exhaustion around him that she needed to consider.

But his recommendation held merit, and she knew that he would never have made it if he thought his own health would jeopardize his team. So she smiled and then nodded carefully.

"All right. When do you want to leave?"

"First thing in the morning. Rodney needs time to pack up some of the toys that he wants to bring along for the Netharian scientists to take a look at," Sheppard said.

"Do you think that's wise? We haven't finished negotiating yet. What technology are you planning on showing them, Rodney?" Elizabeth asked with a hint of alarm.

"Oh, no, nothing important!" Rodney responded hurriedly. "Just a few benign Ancient devices. Sandrina and I want to run some tests to see how related our two technologies are. Incredible really that they could maintain scientific records for centuries, but salvaging the historical paths of their ancestors was unsuccessful. Anyway, it would be helpful if the two technologies were similar enough in design so that they could be integrated together."

"Sandrina?" Elizabeth asked curiously. Her right eyebrow was raised to show her interest, and Sheppard grinned boyishly in response.

"One of the Netharian scientists," John said, affecting a theatrical aside. "She's got a little crush on our Dr. McKay here."

"Well, that is simply not true! We're just sharing our scientific knowledge!"

Ronan huffed at Rodney's indignant response, and Sheppard smiled playfully.

"Why Rodney, if I didn't know better I'd say that you had a crush on _her_ as well!" he teased, and then laughed as Rodney's face reddened. "Really, McKay, I don't know why you keep referring to me as the Captain Kirk of the Pegasus galaxy, because your record of wooing alien women is much better than mine."

"I resent the implication, Colonel! I'm always a perfect gentleman. You on the other hand…."

"Yeah, that's right. Whenever I think of a gentleman, you come straight to mind," Sheppard replied glibly.

"Alright, I get the picture," Elizabeth interrupted while trying to hold back a laugh. "Go ahead, Rodney. Bring the technology with you, but nothing that is vital to Atlantis."

"Of course not," said Rodney while still glaring viciously at Sheppard.

"Dismissed," she said and finally succumbed to her amusement by laughing quietly as John and Rodney continued to bicker on their way out of the elaborate conference room doors.

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"Can you turn it on?" Rodney eagerly asked the Netharian woman who practically glowed with ethereal beauty. All of the people in Nethas were exceptionally beautiful which allowed them to fit in perfectly with their delicately exquisite surroundings. During the time he had spent on this planet, Rodney often felt as if he were walking through the rooms of an insubstantial dream. The city was as large as Atlantis, and its layout was similar, but for all of its beautiful décor, Atlantis could not compete with the luminosity that was Nethas.

Sandrina obliged his question by closing her eyes and appearing to concentrate on the object that she held in her hands. Rodney felt his mouth go dry when the long eyelashes that framed her closed eyes with such a wonderful curl suddenly distracted him, and he wavered on his feet. The contemplation of what hell Sheppard would inflict if he were given the chance to see the physical weakness that Rodney felt in Sandrina's presence was the only thing that saved Rodney from keeling over. At the thought of Sheppard's self-satisfied smirk, he gathered his senses and forced his attention onto the Ancient device that he had brought with him.

As it glowed with increasing strength, Sandrina opened her eyes and she smiled beatifically at Rodney.

"I did it!" she exclaimed in a delightful way that almost turned Rodney into an unsightly puddle on the floor of the lab.

"That's amazing," he breathed.

"What is this machine?" Sandrina asked. Her face was perplexed as the light it emitted continued to gather in intensity, and Rodney could practically see the possibilities that her scientifically curious mind was conjuring up for her.

"Oh, it's nothing," Rodney said, dismissing the device. "Just a flashlight that the Ancients made. What's really interesting is that it shows that you are descended from the Ancients. You have the ATA gene, and that's, well, that's just, extraordinary!"

"So our people are distantly related then, Rodney! How wonderful!" Sandrina smiled broadly and grasped Rodney's shoulder enthusiastically.

"Wonderful…yes, lovely," Rodney muttered and felt his eyes glazing at the sight of her exquisite happiness. The fuzziness pervaded his senses for a few moments before he fully decoded her conclusion. "Oh, wait. No, that's not exactly true," Rodney said, backing away from the Netharian.

"What do you mean, exactly?" Sandrina asked.

"Oh, it's just that not all of my people carry the Ancient gene. Those of us who possess the gene would be able to activate the light, but many others would be unsuccessful."

"Do you possess this gene, Rodney?" Sandrina asked with a discerning look that unsettled Rodney slightly.

"Of course I do!" he declared in a proud and suitably masculine voice that was just made to impress the woman.

"Then you can activate this device as well?" Sandrina asked earnestly. She held the Ancient light out to Rodney, and the physicist could tell that she wanted a demonstration.

Damn! Caught. He had hoped that she would have been suitably impressed by the news of his possession of the ATA gene that she wouldn't have asked him to prove it. Even though it was true that he had the gene, it had been artificially incorporated into his DNA. Consequently, there were still some devices that he was unable to activate, and the light was unfortunately one of them. How could he have been so stupid as to bring it along with him! It was just so unfair, and yet typical of his experience with women. He thought back to Sheppard's accusation that he was more Kirk-like than Sheppard himself was, and he felt an insane desire to laugh.

"No, no I can't," he muttered. "My gene was artificially inserted into my genome, so I can't operate all of the Ancient technology." He saw her enthused look fade a bit and had the sudden yearning to bring it back. "But Colonel Sheppard can!" he said after a moment's calculation.

Okay, so Sheppard really was the kind of man most women immediately fell for, and including him in the sessions with Sandrina was a risk. In all probability, the Netharian scientist would turn her attentions to the Colonel, and since he would be able to operate the Ancient light, she would probably find him much worth her time and efforts. But Rodney was banking on his friendship with Sheppard and knew that a few carefully placed threats would keep the man in line.

"Really!" Sandrina exclaimed, and the excitement had returned to her expression. But suddenly, Rodney saw something else there as well. A cunningness insinuated itself in her eyes, and McKay wondered what it could mean. Up until this point she had exuded innocence and scientific curiosity, but both had suddenly dissipated.

"Citizen Setarcos," she said aloud. Rodney startled and then realized that she was externally communicating with the Netharian leader. "Please bring Colonel Sheppard to my lab," she said and turned a suddenly dark and brooding expression on McKay.

He felt his mouth grow dry again, but this time it was for entirely different reasons.

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"Hey! That was completely unnecessary!" John exclaimed as he was roughly pushed into the laboratory by a brawny guard. He, Teyla, and Ronan had been touring the Netharian military grounds with Citizen Setarcos when suddenly guards had appeared and separated the three teammates. After it had become evident to all of them that fighting back was useless since it was apt to only succeed in rendering them unconscious, Teyla and Ronan had been ushered off to who-knew-where.

John grimaced as he recalled the fuming look Ronan had tossed him as they were lead away.

"You owe me those last three Almond Joys," the warrior had growled by way of parting.

Thinking of the Satedan, John fingered the candy that he had packed into a pocket of his vest. He and Ronan had made a bet about the Netharian's true motives, and the abruptly rough attitude that they had received had cinched Ronan's winnings.

Who knew that the burly warrior would love coconut so much?

He thought the words bemusedly, but maintained his attention on "Conan the Barbarian Guardsman" and Citizen Setarcos. Keeping them both in his vigilant sight, he acknowledged Rodney's presence.

"McKay, are you all right?" he asked cautiously.

"Yes, I'm fine," Rodney snapped, obviously infuriated by the mistreatment that had been visited upon John.

"Mind telling me what's going on?"

"I'm not sure," McKay replied, but his voice sustained a level of malevolence that made John proud.

"Please activate this device," said a woman whose beauty almost struck John dumb. She held out one of the Ancient knick-knacks that Rodney had brought with them, but John ignored it. Feigning disinterest he directed his attention back to the Netharian leader.

"Citizen Setarcos, I am a bit put off by the way my team and I have been treated," John said coldly.

"Your concerns are inconsequential. Please, do as Sandrina has instructed," the reply was equally cold and tolerated no argument.

"No, I don't think so," John said carefully.

"Please, do not misunderstand me, Colonel Sheppard. You will either do as Sandrina has instructed, or Doctor McKay will suffer the consequences of your impolitic nature."

John observed the scene and noted the second guard that had settled in a position that easily threatened McKay. Narrowing his eyes in calculation, he concluded that the best course of action would be to comply.

Keeping his eyes on McKay's guard, he took the Ancient device into his hand. Without any conscious effort, the instrument immediately glowed brightly in his grasp.

"Oh!" The breathless exclamation came from Sandrina, and John focused his attention on her. Her expression was ecstatic; in fact, she looked as if she had just found the Holy Grail. Annoyed by her display of emotion, John turned back to Rodney and tilted his head to indicate the Netharian woman.

"Is this the girl you were going on about?" he asked sarcastically. "Sure, she's a looker Rodney, but her personality needs some work," he informed his friend in a buoyant tone he found difficult to affect.

Rodney opened his mouth to respond, but John never heard the words. Instead, he felt a small stinging sensation in the right side of his neck, and then nothingness overtook all of his senses.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Hi Everyone. Sorry that this has taken so long to update. Between chasing cats away from the Christmas tree and all of the holiday madness, I wasn't able to sit down and write until this week. But my shopping is over, the cats have been tamed, and I am managing my time well enough to be able to post regular updates from now on (plus, winter recess is coming up next week! Yea! Extra writing time!). I hope that you all enjoy this second chapter.**

**Oh, and a WARNING: Shep's not happy right now, so his language gets a bit…shall we say colorful…in this chapter. Also, just a reminder, there are spoilers for "Poisoning the Well," "Trinity," and "Aurora" scattered throughout.**

**Enjoy!**

**Emrys**

The Weight of an Oath - Part 2

John woke to the blurry sight of a highly polished, white marbleized ceiling, and he groaned as the soft glow of ethereal lights penetrated his sensitized eyes. He squinted against the offensive illumination and waited for his eyes to adjust before making an attempt to survey his surroundings.

Unfortunately, an invisible restraint limited his efforts to determine more about his situation, and he cursed at the exertion required just to lift his head high enough to peer over the edges of what seemed to be an exam table. Breathing heavily with the effort it took him to inspect the room, he could only ascertain that he was in some sort of medical office that was certainly not the readily familiar stomping grounds of Doctor Beckett. Strange, heavy equipment lined the one wall that John had a clear view of, but he managed to determine that the other walls were littered with shelves holding smaller, but just as strange medical instruments. John was struggling with his overactive imagination and the ideas of what each ominous device was meant for when he heard a door open somewhere behind him.

He allowed his head to fall back onto the table and waited with growing fury for the confrontation that would inevitably come. He was not disappointed when Sandrina's face hovered in his line of vision.

"How are you feeling, Colonel Sheppard?" she asked in a tone that was absent of concern and laced only with mild, scientific curiosity.

"Where is my team?" Sheppard asked back, ignoring her question. He allowed his anger to seethe from the words, but the woman only smiled haughtily at him as she appeared to consider answering.

"They are fine," she said in a way that offered him no guarantees. "Now tell me how you are feeling, Colonel Sheppard."

"You've separated me from my team, and you're holding me in a medical facility where I'm sure you're planning to do disreputable things. So I'm really not inclined towards telling you anything right now, " John replied angrily.

"You insult me, Colonel Sheppard," Sandrina said in a way that made John feel uneasy. "I have no intention of doing anything immoral or dishonorable. Now, tell me how you are feeling or I may have to make things uncomfortable for you."

John stared incredulously at the woman whose thought processes were obviously warped and realized that his circumstances were much worse than he had initially thought. It was his experience that scientists could prove more dangerous than the Wraith. Even the ones he considered friends had devastated entire worlds. Hell, Rodney had knocked off three quarters of a solar system. But since Sandrina was obviously both adversarial and mad, he really was in deep shit.

Swallowing his fear and wishing desperately for some assurance that his team was safe, John forced himself to smile.

"Oh, I get it," he said disingenuously. "You're a nut case. Now it all makes sense!"

Sandrina's face hardened with anger, and her hand lashed out and slapped his face solidly. "Tell me how you are feeling!" she shouted.

"Go to hell!" John immediately responded, ignoring the stinging in his cheek where she had hit him with the palm of her hand.

The Netharian scientist's face flushed further with fury, but then John saw a scheming look briefly flit across her features. She softened her expression and gently caressed the cheek that she had just slapped.

"It is important for my people that you answer my questions. If you wish to continue trade negotiations you must explain to me how you are currently feeling."

John wanted to laugh at her clumsy attentions, and he felt a pang of sympathy for McKay. Rodney really was a sucker for the wackos if Sandrina was any indication of the physicist's typical taste in woman. He considered his options briefly while the Netharian continued to stroke his cheek and knew that his only true choice in strategy was to coerce answers to his own questions out of the deranged woman.

"Why is my health suddenly so important to you anyway?"

Appearing surprised by the question, Sandrina pulled her hand away from John's face. She considered him carefully with an expression that John could not decipher, before she nodded abruptly with only a hint of resignation.

"I suppose it is a fair question that you are posing," she remarked, reasonably.

Despite the fact that he could not keep track of the woman's leaps between rational and irrational thought, Sheppard was glad of this delving back into sane thought. Even if she supplied no logical explanation for her actions, at least he might have time to come up with another possible course of action while Sandrina talked.

"We Netharians are explorers, Colonel, much like your people are. Late last year, we entered the Stargate and found ourselves on a world that had been devastated by the Wraith. On the planet were the remains of what was, at one time, a moderately advanced civilization. However at the time that we visited, all sentient life on the planet had been taken by the Wraith. Although at first we could not determine why the Wraith would want to decimate one of its seemingly rich culling fields, our supposition that the Wraith had suitable cause to completely devastate the people who once so successfully lived on this remarkable world drove us to further explore the planet. It was not until we entered one of the major cities and found vast documentation of the society that had inhabited the planet that we were able to determine what had occurred to this civilization. The records were quite extensive, and it was easy to decipher the name of this once extraordinary people. In fact, I believe you have heard of them. They were known as the Hoffans."

Sandrina smiled brightly as John took time to overcome his confusion. The Hoffans? What did anything she wanted with him have to do with the Hoffan people?

His confusion was momentary; however, when the niggling of an awful suspicion began to tap unkindly onto the door of his thoughts.

"What did you do to me?" he asked, icily.

Sandrina blithely ignored Sheppard's question and wandered about the room as she continued her explanation. "We were also able to establish that in the recent past of the Hoffan people, individuals from the mythic home of our Ancestors had aided them in their endeavors to create a serum that would, for all intensive purposes, vaccinate subjects against the Wraith," the Netharian scientist said as she suddenly turned to observe John cheerfully. "Your Doctor Beckett, by the way, must be a remarkable individual. I would so like to meet him to discuss the work he did on the Hoffan serum. Absolutely ingenuous, really. Although he didn't _quite_ get it right now, did he?"

"What did you do?" John asked, now beginning to struggle against the invisible bonds that restricted his movement. He was feeling entirely too vulnerable laying on the table where he was well within reach of her insane movements.

"We only improved upon your own scientist's work, Colonel Sheppard. As you know, administration of the serum, although undoubtedly effective against the Wraith, had some…shall we say unfortunate…side effects in a significant portion of the population? We made strides to remedy the errors that caused eventual respiratory complications, and now we believe that we have a serum that will actually succeed where the original one failed. We need only now to test the serum on a final level before we can begin administration of this drug to our people."

"Final level?" Sheppard echoed the words and the niggling thought had begun pounding unhappily in his head. He had not liked the implication of her explanation.

"Yes. We needed a test subject who possessed strong genetic and physical similarities to the typical Netharian. Until you and your team came to our world, we could not test the serum due to ethical considerations. You; however, make the perfect test subject. Your physiology and genomic components are closely aligned with our own, and yet you are not a Netharian citizen," Sandrina spoke the words as if John should be pleased with her news. John stepped up his struggles as he began to realize that her insanity was not isolated, and that the entire Netharian race was mentally polluted.

"Please stop fighting against the restraint, Colonel Sheppard. You cannot release yourself, and you will only do yourself harm if you continue."

"Did you inject that crap into me!" Sheppard snarled as he ignored her cold advice and ineffectively threw himself against the bindings that he could not see.

"Why yes we did, Colonel. Which is why it is important that you tell me exactly how you are feeling at this moment. I must document all of your physical and emotional symptoms accurately if we are to learn anything of value from this test."

The intense pressure of fear twisted inside of him, and John found himself physically weakened by her casual words. He ceased fighting the bindings and lay still beneath their awkward weight.

"Let me get this straight," he said shakily. "I've been injected with the Hoffan serum?"

"An improved version of the Hoffan serum, yes," Sandrina acknowledged. Her voice held a tinge of irritation as if she had become weary of explaining herself to John. "And may I remind you that it is extremely important that you tell me how you are feeling."

"I'll tell you how I'm feeling!" John roared, angrily. "Fucking pissed off, is how I feel! How can you claim to have 'no intention of doing anything immoral or dishonorable' when you've done this thing to me! Your moral code must be seriously warped if you think that testing a dangerous serum on an unwilling subject is moral and honorable!"

Through his anger, John noticed that dawning realization was affecting Sandrina. She stopped her pacing and placed a hand over her mouth before answering his question with grave seriousness.

"I apologize, Colonel Sheppard. It is difficult at times to remember that you cannot possibly understand the noble principles to which I am bound, and I see that I must explain."

John could only stare at the woman with disbelief as she calmly, and almost caringly attempted to justify her absolutely senseless point of view.

"When they come of age, all Netharians take a sacrosanct oath to protect our society regardless of the cost of that protection. It is how we have survived the Wraith cullings and have attained our great level of advancement in doing so. It is the moral obligation of all Netharians to defend our civilization, in any way that we can using whatever means we can. The Oath weighs heavily on my heart at times, but it is the ethical binding that has kept my rich culture alive for so many centuries. It is the reason why a Netharian is unsuitable as a test subject, for performing a procedure that could possibly do harm to one of our own is detestable and immoral. However, you are not Netharian, and the information we gain by using this serum on you will be incalculable to my people. You should feel honored that you are being given the privilege of aiding my great society."

"Honored? _Honored!_ Lady, you _are _nuts! I suppose next you're going to tell me that you have a Wraith stashed away somewhere and that you're going to have it attempt to feed off of me!" John's words were shouted, and Sandrina closed her eyes against their harshness.

"Really, Colonel, you do need to calm down. This behavior is unsightly. And yes, in fact, we have several imprisoned Wraith that will be exposed to the serum in your blood through the feeding process. I believe this procedure is scheduled to take place tomorrow."

"All right! Enough is enough! Get me the hell out of here, and take me to the Stargate!" In his growing panic, John figured it couldn't hurt to make a few demands. And maybe Beckett would be able to fix the mess he was in if he could just find a way to land himself in the infirmary.

"Colonel, I must insist that you calm down."

"Hell no! You just told me that a Wraith is going to feed on me tomorrow! I think that gives me the right to yell at the top of my lungs for as long as I want to, thank you very much!"

"Colonel Sheppard, please…."

But John was far past the point where he could bear to listen to her calm and scientifically distanced voice prattle on any further. He ignored her and fought against the restraints as the storm of his outrage, powered by fear, thundered strongly through him.

After a time, he felt the same pinprick of pain in his neck that had knocked him out before.

He knew nothing more for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey! I had time to write the next chapter already! Woo-Hoo! This is fun! Enjoy! Emrys.**

As John had collapsed into a crumpled heap at his feet, Rodney had begun to struggle furiously against the Netharians who all too quickly had changed in status from friends to foes. But all he had received for his efforts was a ringing blow to his head and the sudden surfacing of a strong sense of futility. He had followed the Colonel's descent to the floor, and the next conscious vision he had had was of his team-leader's unconscious form as it was easily hefted up and away by the bulkier of the two Netharian guards.

Rodney had begun to shout angry words and had almost made it back onto his feet when he was grabbed by the second guard and summarily dragged away in the opposite direction of his friend.

And now, here he was, sitting uselessly on a luxurious bed in a room that was both delicately beautiful and frustratingly locked. He had inspected the room for an avenue of escape but was not surprised to find no such blessing at his disposal. Even ripping apart one of the filigreed door panels in an attempt to open the door by using a fancy engineering technique had proven useless. The machinery within the panel held only a passing resemblance to the Ancient technology with which he was familiar, and although he had determined some manner of its inner workings, he could not get the mechanism to respond. Rodney wondered if the technology would react to the presence of a naturally inherited Ancient gene, and not for the first time, wished that Sheppard were with him.

He was worried about the man. The greedy look that had clouded Sandrina's expression when the Colonel had activated the Ancient light had been terrible to look at and had spoken of many not-so-nice things to come. And Rodney was sick to death of being put into hapless situations by the overly cocky, thoroughly irritating, jinxed with the worst luck ever flyboy who also happened to be his best friend. Enough was enough already! Couldn't they have one mission where things went the way they were intended to go?

The situation was made worse when considering that he had no way of knowing where Teyla and Ronan had been taken or if they were even still alive. With the added fact that Sheppard's circumstances were dodgy at best, and, well, that Rodney's head hurt from the knock it had received earlier, and then things were looking downright abysmal.

Suddenly overcome by an overriding need to pace about the room, Rodney resisted the urge to let off the nervous energy he felt and laid back into the plush and decadent pillows of the bed. Better to rest and store up his energy until a moment of escape presented itself than to waste the energy on pointless pacing.

He had only been resting for five minutes at most, when the door to his grandiose prison cell made a clicking noise and then unceremoniously opened. Rodney lunged towards the entrance in an effort to judge his chances of escape, but he was surprised by the appearance of one of the tall Netharian guards carrying the limp form of Sheppard within his arms. At the sight of his friend, Rodney experienced relief so great that he only managed to make it back to the edge of the bed before he huffed out a withheld breath and sat solidly on the lavish mattress.

Although an escape attempt now was certainly out of the question, Rodney did not care since he had gotten his wish to see the Colonel and to ascertain the man's condition. He managed to pull himself away from the bed when the guard indicated that he was going to deposit the unconscious Sheppard onto the mattress. After the guard withdrew, McKay took a concerted look at his friend and was not sure that he liked what he was seeing. He reached for Sheppard's wrist and was relieved to find a strong and steady pulse under the skin, but he did not care for the pale and clammy appearance the reclining man posed.

"He will awaken within the hour."

The voice was low and melodious, and its sudden sound scared the crap out of him. He had not heard the Netharian woman's entrance into the room, and after taking a look at her, he could understand why. The woman was incredibly delicate and probably wouldn't make a whisper of sound as she moved. That the woman wore what appeared to be stark, medical garb, and that Sheppard was wearing what had to be the equivalent of white hospital scrubs was alarming to Rodney. He stared at the dainty Netharian woman and felt ice invade his blood vessels when he involuntarily considered the atrocities medical personnel could have done to an unconscious and vulnerable Sheppard.

"What have you done to him?" McKay asked coldly.

"As I have already stated, Colonel Sheppard will be fine within the hour," the Netharian said with a graceful shake of her long, dark hair. "We only had to sedate him, since he was becoming agitated. Sandrina thought that he would be more comfortable residing with one of his friends until the testing is completed."

The chill within him heated into fast anger as he realized the implications of her statements. Taking a belligerent step towards the Netharian, he berated her in gunshot tones.

"What testing? What have you done to him? You have no right to do this to him!"

The woman only ignored him and took out an alien instrument of some sort. She waved it vaguely in the direction of Sheppard, tapped onto its screen for a few moments, and then shook her head sadly.

"This situation just is not ideal for the testing," she said morosely to herself. "But I suppose it cannot be helped." She then turned away from Sheppard and headed towards the doorway, practically ignoring a still-confused and infuriated McKay.

"What in the _hell_ is going on?" Rodney yelled.

"Keep him comfortable, Doctor McKay. I will return within two hours to check his status, and I will continue the check-ups at regular intervals after that. Good afternoon." The instructions were nonchalantly called over her shoulder just as she left the room.

Rodney stared disbelievingly at the door that closed behind her, and it took him conscious effort to close his open mouth.

888

True to the Netharian woman's claims, John struggled to consciousness within the hour. To Rodney's eye; however, the man was anything but fine. Sheppard must have been given a heavy dose of sedative, because even with his eyes open and consciousness returning, the man was lethargic and far from able to carry on a decent conversation.

"M'Kay?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here," Rodney assured the glassy-eyed man of his presence by hovering nearby. The Colonel made a few, floppy attempts to sit up, but gave up when dizziness swarmed over his vision.

"Lay still!" Rodney instructed snappily. "You're turning a particularly ugly shade of green, and I absolutely refuse to clean up vomit. Performing feats of absolute genius, killing life-sucking Wraith, and generally saving the day, why, yes, those things are all part of my job description. But nowhere does it say that I have to clean up vomit."

John's response was to groan and grind his teeth against another strong bout of nausea. He lay still as he tried to maintain control, but still managed to find the strength to chastise Rodney.

"Shut…hell up, M'Kay," he ground out and then closed his eyes as a burning sensation climbed up into his throat. He shut his mouth tightly against the uncomfortable feeling of an impending bout of sickness but somehow, thankfully, managed to regain control.

Relaxing into the blankets, he breathed a gentle sigh of relief and shivered in reaction to the lingering effects of the sedative.

"Where…we?" John asked after a moment. The words were hoarsely spoken from between violently chattering teeth.

"It looks like some sort of bedroom," McKay said while pulling blankets up over the top of Sheppard's shoulders. John grasped the warm covers with shaking hands, and pressed his face into their sleek, textured depths.

"You 'kay?" Sheppard grunted the question and opened his eyes to hazily study Rodney.

"Oh, just dandy!" Rodney exclaimed sarcastically. "We're locked in a room on an alien planet, Teyla and Ronan are nowhere to be found, you're one step away from throwing up all over the bed…."

"Don't…don't…remind me," Sheppard muttered, and Rodney shut up when he saw the colonel turn a few shades paler.

"I'm sorry, Colonel. It's just that I don't have any idea about what's happening. One minute I was having a perfectly pleasant scientific discussion with a very beautiful woman, and the next I was watching them carry your unconscious body away. You'll have to forgive me if I find it all just a bit disconcerting."

"S'okay," Sheppard slurred while clutching the blankets more securely. He blinked heavily, but fought the lassitude so that he could continue garnering information. "Teyla? Ronan?"

Rodney's eyes narrowed in concern. Hadn't he just mentioned that their other two teammates were nowhere to be seen?

"I don't know," Rodney said and then leaned closer to John in order to scrutinize him further. Sheppard's color was not good, and large beads of sweat slicked his forehead. Rodney reached out and wiped the sweat away with his shirtsleeve, and John jumped with surprise at the unbidden touch. Sheppard then groaned against yet another spell of queasiness, and Rodney clasped the man's shoulder in an offer of comfort.

"What did they do to you?" Rodney asked, worriedly, but John was apparently in no condition to respond since he only closed his eyes and seemed to concentrate on regulating his breathing. After a moment, he seemed to have gathered control of himself once more, and he eyed McKay blearily.

"Ideas…getting…out?" he asked through heavily panted breaths.

"There are no obvious exits, other than the door, of course," McKay began. "I tried to rig the door's locking mechanism to release, but the technology isn't responding to me. I think that you might have a better chance of initiating the correct sequence since you have the ATA gene. It's worth a shot, anyway, but I think we should wait until after Mighty Midget comes back."

Sheppard grunted in a way that could have been construed as a painfully weak laugh.

"Mighty….Midg…et?" he asked softly.

"She's the most petite Netharian I've seen so far!" McKay exclaimed. "Quite an irritating woman, actually, and she's coming back in...oh…I'd say about 45 minutes now, and I don't think we'd want her interrupting our escape plans. Besides, I'm betting that she brings the guards with her, and, well, my apologies, Colonel, but I don't think either one of us is in the condition to take on one of those gorillas."

Rodney expected some sort of response to his tirade, but Sheppard was not forthcoming. Sighing worriedly, Rodney checked his friend's pulse again, and bowed his head against the feeling of helplessness that assaulted him. He studied the closed eyes and too fast respiration of the sick man and brushed his hands nervously through his own hair.

"What did they do to you?" he whispered and pulled his fingers out of his hair, leaving it standing up gawkily.

"Hoffan…serum," the words coming from Sheppard were both unexpected and shocking, and Rodney sat down hard on the floor at the sound of them.

"The serum that Carson worked on? The one that killed….the Hoffan serum?" Rodney stuttered amazingly once he had some of his wits about him. "What? Did they inject you with that poison?"

"Mmmph, yes," John breathed the words, and Rodney thought he detected just the smallest touch of anxiety emanating from the colonel. "Feeding…Wraith…tomorrow."

"What!" Rodney's voice was a high-pitched squawk. "No way! Absolutely NOT! I will not allow that to happen! They must all be insane!"

"Mmmph. Tired," John said and then his breathing evened out and the hand that clasped the blankets relaxed incrementally.

Frightened, Rodney moved to sit on the bed and yet again felt for his friend's pulse. He eventually breathed a sigh of pure relief when he perceived the blood vessels in Sheppard's hand moving strongly and surely with his heart's beating. With Sheppard sleeping soundly beside him, McKay leaned back and hit his head several time against the ornately decorated headboard.


	4. Chapter 4

The Weight of an Oath – Part 4 

Rodney had fallen into a fitful sleep beside the unconscious Colonel, but he was jarred awake when the door opened to emit the tiny Netharian scientist from before. Rodney scrambled from the bed to position himself between the woman and Sheppard and took a predatory stance that would have impressed John if he had been aware enough to notice it.

"Why are you doing this to him?" Rodney demanded.

"Doctor McKay, I really do not have the time for your questions. Now let me by so that I can check the Colonel's condition," the woman responded indignantly.

Glowering in what he hoped was a suitably threatening way, Rodney took a few steps in the scientist's direction. Although he knew that he could easily overtake her and escape this room now that there were no guards present, he would not leave the incapacitated Colonel to do so. Instead he opted to find a way to obtain more specific answers to the numerous questions he had, and since John was no longer in any condition to give even scant answers, his only choice was to get the Netharian talking. Now was an opportune time since her goons were absent and since McKay figured that he was feeling angry enough to elicit from her the responses he needed.

"You don't get by until you tell me exactly what you're doing to him and why."

The woman's only reaction was to stare at him and shake her head sadly. Then, after considering him with what seemed astonishingly like amusement, she pushed a button on a panel of her hand-held instrument and said softly to him, "Really, Doctor McKay. I would have thought better of you."

Before Rodney had a chance to deliver the angry retort that came suddenly to his lips, he was pressed against a gilded wall with a very strong hand around his throat. Apparently the scientist had beckoned one of the goons with the innocuous machine that she was holding. Rodney cursed inwardly as he struggled against the hold around him. But he was powerless to free himself and could only watch as the scientist approached Sheppard and began to run some tests on him.

"What do…they feed you guys…anyway? Steady…steroid…diet?" Rodney was pleased that he had managed to croak out the words and convey a sense of sarcasm all at the same time.

The goon's only response was to press his beefy arm further into Rodney's throat. Rodney frantically gasped for air and was seeing stars when the hold around his neck was abruptly lifted. He slumped to the ground, rasping in breath.

"He will be fine by morning. I will check on him in three hours. I expect you will show better manners when I return."

The words were spoken haughtily, but Rodney could barely hear them through the roaring that had overtaken his hearing. He lay quietly until he felt that his legs could support him again and then stood before taking unsteady steps in Sheppard's direction.

The man was still unconscious, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. Rodney was happy to see that his color had improved and hoped that the change was an indication that the Colonel would regain consciousness soon. If they were going to make it out of the room before morning, they needed to do so in the very immediate future. And in order to escape, Rodney needed Sheppard conscious to work the technology that controlled the door. Rodney patted the Colonel's face lightly in a desperate hope to wake him. McKay was acutely aware of the time as he considered that the Netharian scientist would return in three hours. If Sheppard didn't wake up before then, their window of escape opportunity would be reduced to the few hours between the check-in and morning. And that was provided that only one more check-in was forthcoming.

But Sheppard didn't respond to Rodney's ministrations, and Rodney resigned himself to waiting. He clambered back onto the bed, but this time resisted the urge to bang his head against its extravagant headboard.

888

"Do I require a guard, Doctor McKay?"

The Netharian woman had returned but had not walked far from the door. Instead she had fixed her blank expression on Rodney and paid him some serious attention for the first time since their arrival.

"No, you don't. I'm nothing if not a fast learner," McKay replied bitterly while rubbing his still tender neck.

"I am pleased that you now see reason, Doctor McKay," the woman said. She smiled broadly, and Rodney realized with a shock that she was very young. How could he have missed that about her? Could it possibly be that the stress of being imprisoned, having his best friend experimented on, and lacking knowledge of his other teammates had made him less observant than usual?

To Rodney, it seemed like a reasonable explanation.

The Netharian scientist neared the bed where Sheppard continued to loll in frustrating unconsciousness. Since he didn't want the goons coming in to teach him any other new lessons, Rodney resigned himself to keeping his hands off the woman so long as she did nothing that would further exacerbate Sheppard's condition. He itched to take some action against her but instead just watched her carefully from his position on the bed.

She directed her hand-held instrument at Sheppard again and then frowned at the results that she saw there.

"What? What's the matter?" McKay asked anxiously while craning his neck at an awkward angle in an attempt to see the readout on the machine.

"It is nothing. Only that he has been over-sedated. The serum appears to be meeting our expectations, but I must inform Sandrina that conditions for further testing are not ideal. He needs time to overcome the effects of the sedative."

McKay was surprised by the amount of information that she had revealed, but could barely contain the anger that suffused through him. The serum. By that she meant the Hoffan death serum. He still could only wonder at the series of events that had lead up to the frightening re-introduction into their lives of those horrible events that had occurred on Hoff over a year ago.

"Has he regained consciousness since last I checked on him?"

The concern, which laced the question directed at McKay, surprised him. The Netharian scientist had not looked at him when she had asked it, and Rodney made a closer observation of the woman. She kept intent watch over Sheppard, and Rodney noted for the first time that her eyes had taken on a dewy quality as she looked upon the unconscious man. One of her delicate hands lingered on the Colonel's cheek, and Rodney practically choked.

"Oh you have got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed before he even realized that he had not answered her question.

"I beg your pardon?" Now the woman turned away from Sheppard, and annoyance darkened her brow. McKay noticed; however, that her hand had not left its position cupped around the Colonel's right cheek.

"Sorry. I'm sorry," he stammered, suddenly embarrassed although he could not understand why he cared about what she thought of his outrageous outburst. "Sorry," he muttered again. "No, he hasn't regained consciousness," he then lied in a smaller voice.

The woman's expression grew darker with concern, and she again returned her entire attention towards Sheppard, thus giving Rodney time to think about the situation.

Even unconscious the man attracted women far too easily! And although Rodney could be an idiot when it came to women (a fact that he would only admit to himself), he knew enough to recognize that this one was smitten with the Colonel. And maybe he could use her affections to help get them out of this mess.

"So, uh, what is your name, anyway?" he asked, haltingly.

She took only a moment to stare at him as if he were a flea not worthy of his notice before turning yet again to the object of her affections.

Shrugging off with difficulty the sudden burn of harsh rejection, Rodney tried again. "Uh, you know. I mean, just in case the Colonel does wake up, he's going to want to know the name of the woman who has cared for him through all of this," Rodney grimaced. Maybe he was laying it all on just a bit too thick.

But her response was immediate and acceptable.

"Torca! My name is Torca! Do you really think he will want to know of me?"

Rodney only took a moment to consider the utter ugliness of her name before plastering a bright smile on his face.

"Of course he will! And it's such a lovely name, too!" Oh God! Was he even doing this right? How had it happened that their lives depended on him flattering a woman who was attracted to another, unconscious, man!

"Oh, it makes me happy to hear of it!" Torca continued her concerted perusal of Sheppard's features, but now her face had taken on the visage of one who was definitely love-struck.

Rodney was struggling with deciding upon which of several different possible things to say next, when Torca seemed to shake herself from her reverie.

"I must leave. I will try to convince Sandrina to postpone the next testing. His condition is not ideal for such a trial," the woman said, absently.

Before Rodney could say anything further, Torca had sped lightly from the room.

"This is absolutely insane!" Rodney muttered to himself. He recalled Sheppard's earlier, taunting comments about how Rodney was winning the race to become the Captain Kirk of the Pegasus Galaxy and shook his head in further disbelief. He took a brief moment to check the Colonel's condition with the smallest hope that Torca's attentions had brought the man back into the land of the conscious, but was unsurprised to find the man still deeply unaware.

He settled back onto his now usual place on the bed and made a mental note to hassle Sheppard about the current Captain Kirk tally when he finally regained consciousness.

888

Sheppard returned to consciousness shortly after dawn and promptly threw up all over the bed coverings. He knew that he should care about the fact that he was covered in a sickening mess, but he didn't have the energy. Instead he slumped back down against the pillows and sheltered his eyes with his right hand in an effort to ward off the headache that was threatening to take over.

"Oh, ewwww. Oh, I mean, honestly, ewwww. Did you really have to do that!"

John didn't know whether he should be relieved or annoyed by McKay's obvious and complaining presence.

"Yes," the word scraped against the back of his throat, and he coughed. "Oh yes, I think…it's fair to say that that was necessary," John managed to finish.

"Fine, whatever," McKay snapped back unhappily. "I just want it made known that that was a highly inconsiderate and totally disgusting act."

"Whatever makes you happy, McKay," John muttered back. He didn't seem to have the strength to say anymore and took comfort in the sounds of Rodney's bad-tempered complaints as he gathered the blankets and tossed them in the corner of the room.

"Not in the job description, Colonel!" Rodney yelled, and John couldn't help but chuckle despite the fact that the hollering was causing his headache to notch up a few levels.

He didn't remember much about what had happened. He had vague memories of panic and fear, but beyond that everything was a blur.

"What's going on, McKay?" John asked, still with his hand over his eyes.

"What's going on is that you just vomited all over the bed, and I had to clean it up!"

"McKay…." John's voice was a warning, and he coupled it with a sharp glance at his friend.

"I apologize, Colonel. It's just been a weird night," McKay said, looking frightened, irritated and chagrined all at the same time.

"Just tell me what's happening," Sheppard said, trying to sound calming.

As Rodney explained the situation to him, remnants of memories began to surface for John, and he began to understand just why the physicist was so upset. It had been a trying evening for Rodney, filled with insomnia, uncertainty, and an apparently lovesick scientist.

"What does she look like?" John asked, interested.

Rodney stared at him blankly for a minute as if he was in shock. John was just about to ask his question again before McKay spectacularly exploded in a stream of infuriated words. "What do you mean, '_What does she look like_!' Are you NUTS! Are you planning on asking her out on a date? Or maybe you're just worried that your record for attracting the BEAUTIFUL women of the Pegasus galaxy is at risk! I can't believe you! What kind of question is that!"

"McKay…."

"Or maybe I'm the one who has gone nuts," McKay continued, unabated. "Maybe I'm losing my touch. Because, I mean, I _did_ notice how hot that disguised Wraith was on the Aurora. But, to be fair, she wasn't EXPERIMENTING on you! Forgive me if I was a little distracted by the fact that this particular woman was hurting you, and that I wasn't in the exact frame of mind to determine whether or not she's HOT!"

"McKay!" John's voice was now angry.

"WHAT!"

"I'm only asking so that I know what she looks like. You did the right thing by playing off of her emotions. I just want to go along with it if she wanders in here, and I can do that most effectively if I know what she looks like!"

"Oh." Rodney's anger was slow to dissipate, but at least he shut the hell up. "Sorry, didn't mean to offend," he eventually muttered.

John closed his eyes again and waved dismissively at McKay. "No offense. Just give me the description."

"Young. Long, dark hair. Oh, and like I said before, tiny. Very delicate."

"Okay, I'll try to schmooze with her when I get the chance. Now, you were saying something about the door mechanism?" John asked.

"Oh, yes. Do you think you can concentrate on the technology well enough to help me rig it to open the door? I know that you aren't feeling well, but…." Rodney's nose wrinkled with remembered disgust, and John sent him another warning glance.

"I'm fine, just help me over there."

With Rodney's help Sheppard had just managed a dizzying shuffle halfway across the room when the door opened. Both men lifted their heads to see four of the guards standing in a protective stance behind Sandrina and Torca. Torca still held onto her medical panel, and her grasp on it tightened when she saw the Atlanteans standing in the middle of the room.

"Ah! Do you see, Torca, I told you he would be well enough!" Sandrina moved to one of the bigger guards and motioned him over to the two men. "The testing will proceed as planned," Sandrina announced and then turned with a flourish and left.

When Torca unhappily followed Sandrina out of the room before they could speak with her, both Sheppard and McKay were plagued by the same thought.

Oh, not good. So, not good.

888

Rodney had been left behind in the extravagant prison room, and Sheppard wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. Although having his teammate present would have been a small comfort, John knew that watching a Wraith feeding was horrific even when the menu didn't include a best friend. And so most of John was thankful that he was going through this ordeal alone, but he could not quite quell the small part of him that wanted the reassurance of a friendly face.

He tried to tell himself that in all likelihood the Hoffan serum would protect him from the Wraith feeding, but he still felt panic begin to engulf reason as the guard practically carried him down a bright hallway to a transporter. As the transporter doors closed around them, John idly noted that the technology was one that looked extraordinarily like those found on Atlantis. But then the transporter opened its doors, and John stopped considering the technology because he found himself being dragged through a darker, much more danker and ominous hallway. Panic continued to well, and he wondered when he had gained such a tenuous hold over his emotions. Usually he could manage much better than this. He speculated that his recent emotional distress from the Aurora pods could have sensitized him to this fear, or even that he was still affected by the Netharian sedative. Either would explain his current emotional status.

Or it could just be that the fear stemmed from the simple fact that his captors were planning on feeding him to a Wraith.

John suppressed the urge to laugh hysterically, an act which took an effort that distracted him sufficiently enough to allow him to contain his fear. Shortly after entering this new, disturbing hallway, the guard shoved him into a room where he found Sandrina and Torca in a quiet, but animated discussion. He ignored them, though, when he saw the Wraith standing proudly in the corner of a barred and fielded cell within the room.

The Wraith was as tall and powerful as any other that John had encountered, but this one was very obviously starved. He stared at John with abject desire, and John felt fear spike within him. They were going to put him in that cell. They were going to let that…_thing_…feed on him. It was horrifying and revolting both, but John fought the urge to give into the fear that was gibbering on the very edges of his sanity.

"Hey there! Name's John Sheppard. I'm breakfast!" he said with forced cheerfulness and a jaunty wave of his hand. He barely heard his own voice.

Sandrina and Torca broke off their heated conversation at the sound of Sheppard's voice, and John did not miss the angry looks that passed between the two women. He allowed himself to hope that they would call this craziness off, but then noticed the composed way in which Sandrina was holding herself. Yep, this was going to end badly.

Sandrina gave a curt nod, and the guard suddenly tore open John's shirt.

"Hey! It's cold in here!" John complained casually, but still could not hear himself clearly. A small part of him wondered if he was going into shock, but then he was pushed into the cell and had no further time to consider that possibility.

For a moment man and Wraith stared at each other in stunned silence.

John was the first to break the quiet.

"I'm poison to you. They've injected me with poison," he said quietly to the hungry creature. He had little hope that his words would be taken seriously.

And they weren't.

The Wraith lunged at him, and John had only a fraction of a second to realize that hunger had stricken the creature with its own kind of insanity before it was upon him.

His legs buckled, and he felt an unbearable, deep pain assault him.

Then nothing.

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Hmmmmm… 

**This was kind of an evil cliffhanger wasn't it?**

**Bad Emrys!**

**Mwa Ha Ha**

**I have two other fics from two other fandoms that I have to work on this week, plus a LOT of papers to grade.**

**But this _was_ an EVIL cliffhanger.**

**Hmmmmmm….maybe I'll update again within a couple of days.**

**What do you all think?**

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed up to this point. Those kind words really get me motivated to work!**

**Hope you liked this last chapter!**

**Em**


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi Everyone….**

**I'm sorry that this next chapter took so long. The plan was to write it Wednesday or Thursday of last week, but I was sick for a bunch of days last week and couldn't get it done. If it's any consolation, I blew off my CSI fic to write this (something that I'm sure will land me in trouble!).**

**Thanks to Marie, Elyse, and ashanome (sorry, I only knew this name) for making me laugh when I felt miserable!**

**Enjoy!**

**Emrys**

The Weight of an Oath – Part 5 

"Why now? Why didn't they try something on our earlier visit?" Ronan grumbled as he paced the small, but well-decorated room. Sitting on the corner of one of the two modest beds, Teyla watched the big man pace. He reminded her of the wild benghra that her father had captured and had tried to domesticate until it had attempted to kill his only daughter. Its ceaseless pacing within the walls of its cage had ended only with her father's killing stroke.

"I believe that they had need to establish trust with us before taking this course of action," Teyla said calmly. "The Netharians are aware that we have strict times within which we have need to contact Atlantis. On our last visit, we only had twelve hours before contact was to be made. On this visit, Atlantis will not be aware of any problem until we do not check in within the next 48 hours. I can only conclude that this is plenty of time for the Netharians to complete whatever task they have planned."

"I guess that makes sense," Ronan conceded unhappily. He stopped pacing for a moment to angrily knock the breakfast tray off of an end table where it had been sitting untouched for several hours. Despite the fact that they were essentially prisoners in this ornate room, they had been treated well. Food had been sent to them for lunch and dinner of the previous day, and breakfast had come only a few hours ago.

But no information about the status of their two missing teammates had been supplied to them, and they were both powerless to further an escape. And since both Ronan and Teyla were proud people who despised the way in which they were being treated, they had rebelled in the only way in which they were capable. Neither of them had had the appetite for the food that had been offered them by the Netharians, so they maintained their strength by eating only the power bars from within their vest pockets. And so the tray that Ronan hurled across the room now sprayed its contents across the bed in which Teyla had lain the night before.

"That was unnecessary," she said, annoyed.

Ronan continued his pacing but had the good grace to look apologetic.

"This makes no sense," he said after a while.

Teyla was about to respond to him when the door unexpectedly opened to emit five of the large guards and a smaller, bespectacled Netharian man.

"Teyla Emmagen, we have need of your services," the smaller man said while taking off his glasses and wiping them with the sleeve of his white jacket.

Ronan's response was to immediately stand in front of Teyla in a protective posture. Teyla, a highly successful and recognized warrior in her own right felt a stab of annoyance at his gesture. Because that really was all that this was. A gesture. There was no way that either of them had a chance of fighting their way through the towering guards, and Ronan's bulk only inhibited her own understanding of the proceedings that were occurring before her.

But apparently Ronan had tired of waiting and attempting to understand, because he suddenly charged the line of guards that stood in front of the door. Sighing in resignation, Teyla joined him in what she perceived was a foolhardy battle. Ronan was, after all, her teammate, and so she was honor bound to aid him in this fight. Yet the guards had appeared well trained to her eye, and she had no doubt of their strength, so it was no surprise to her when both she and Ronan were knocked to the floor with very little effort.

"Please, Ms. Emmagen. We do not wish to harm you, and the life of your friend, Colonel Sheppard depends on what you do next," the short, Netharian man said calmly as he extended his hand to help her up.

Teyla studied the hand in front of her and then shot a commanding look to Ronan. The Satedan returned an arrogant look at her to demonstrate his contentious thoughts but nodded his ascension to her unspoken instructions. For Sheppard, and for her, he would stay his need to react.

She ignored the hand outstretched to her and proudly led the escort out of the room.

888

A short while later, after Teyla was lead, surprisingly and unexpectedly to the Stargate, Rodney found himself being dragged by two of the Netharian goons to another part of the city. He was more than a little frightened for himself and absolutely terrified for Sheppard. His friend had been taken hours ago, and Rodney had heard nothing about how the Wraith feeding went. And although his mind was repulsed by the thought of the Colonel being used as nothing more than fodder, he desperately needed to know what had happened.

He stumbled when he was pushed into a stark, medicinal smelling room, but caught himself before falling. After he had recovered his equilibrium, he found himself the object of interest to both Sandrina and Torca. Sandrina stoically considered him, but Torca appeared upset, fidgety, and far too distracted to pay Rodney much mind.

"Where is Colonel Sheppard?" Rodney directed his angry question at Torca and ignored the other woman. He did not like it that Torca was distraught, because her distress undoubtedly had something to do with the Colonel's condition.

"Colonel Sheppard was brought to this facility to test the Hoffan serum-" Sandrina said, but Rodney interrupted her.

"I know all about it!" he snapped with disgust. "Tell me about the Wraith feeding. That is what you were planning to do, right?"

Sandrina ignored his question and calmly proceeded to describe the events that had occurred.

"Something went wrong during the feeding, Doctor McKay," her placid voice set Rodney's teeth on edge, and he flashed her an angry look.

"Of course something went wrong during the feeding! What could have possibly gone _right_!" Rodney exclaimed exasperated. "Where is he?"

"He is in the adjoining room," Torca said meekly. Sandrina stared at her with cool anger, but the smaller woman somewhat defiantly indicated a nearby door anyway.

The door swished open when Rodney moved to it. The two guards and both scientists followed him into the room, but he barely registered their presence. All he could focus on was the writhing figure of Sheppard on a bed much like the ones they had in the Atlantis infirmary.

John was panting and sweating profusely, obviously in pain. Rodney hurried to his side and hoped that the man wasn't too far gone so as to be beyond his attentions.

"Sheppard?"

"McKay. I guess things didn't….go well."

"That's what they keep telling me," Rodney said sarcastically. Relieved by Sheppard's level of consciousness, he allowed himself to turn his attention away from the Colonel's struggling form and eye the two women angrily. "What's wrong with him?"

"We do not know. According to the Hoffan records, this did not happen when you tested the serum on the Wraith previously. We were hoping that you could elucidate," Sandrina's words spoke only of her scientific need and nothing of compassion.

"How the hell am I supposed to know! It's your serum!" Rodney exclaimed, his patience wearing thin.

"I thought as much," Sandrina responded tranquilly to his outburst and then sighed heavily. "I suppose, Torca, that you were correct in sending Ms. Emmagen to Atlantis and through her requesting that Doctor Beckett attend us here."

"Wait a minute. Teyla's okay? Beckett's coming here?" Rodney was confused. But then Sheppard suddenly groaned in pain, and he felt the last vestiges of his fortitude begin to crack. Seemingly of their own accord, his hands tightened, and he imagined the satisfaction he would feel if he were only able to use his fists to mar Sandrina's beautiful face. He resisted the uncharacteristic urge, but barely.

"Both of your companions are fine, Doctor McKay. We require Doctor Beckett's presence because he alone has a complete understanding of both the patient and the serum. We are confident that with your physician's aid we will be able to determine what has developed. Additionally, it may be possible to completely resurrect this experiment if Doctor Beckett is able to counteract the unexpected effects of the feeding that have placed your Colonel in such a dire situation," Sandrina explained without a hint of contriteness in her voice.

Rodney suddenly understood what it meant to see red when angered. He sputtered ineffectually, but none of the Netharians took note.

"We will leave you with him until Doctor Beckett arrives," Sandrina said.

Rodney felt as if he were in a bizarre episode of the Twilight Zone as the Netharians left him alone with Colonel Sheppard.

888

With speech interrupted by stabs of systemic pain, John explained the Netharian Oath to Rodney. It had taken some time for him to remember the conversation he had held with Sandrina before he had been brought to Rodney's gaudy prison room. He supposed that his memory loss had had something to do with the overdose of sedative that Rodney told him he had received. Nevertheless, he remembered the Oath, and its existence was a tactical consideration of which Rodney and the others needed to be aware.

So he explained everything to McKay despite the pain and weakness that relentlessly assailed him.

"God, they're worse than insane," Rodney said once Sheppard had finished. "They're fanatics."

John breathed out a shaky, laugh as his hands clenched and unclenched with the tidal swelling of pain.

"It's so rare…that we agree…on any..thing, McKay," he said, shakily.

"I guess wonders never do cease," Rodney said flatly and silently wondered where the hell Beckett was.

Sheppard laughed shortly, but then curled into himself as another wave of agony crested.

"So what happened to you anyway?" Rodney asked, hurriedly. Sheppard did not look good, and he supposed that his only course of action at the moment was to distract the man from his pain.

"Dunno," John said shortly. "The Wraith…went for me,…I fell…over, woke…up here. No idea." He breathed heavily and seemed to consider something very carefully before talking again. "How old…do…I look?" he asked after his eye contact slipped away from Rodney.

"What! Those bastards didn't tell you?" Rodney was furious at the level of inconsiderateness that was being forced upon Sheppard.

"Haven't told me…damn thing," John replied weakly through a tightly clenched jaw.

"There's no need to worry, John," McKay said kindly. The rare use of his first name caused Sheppard to return eye contact. "The serum must have worked. Well, at least against the Wraith. You haven't aged at all."

John made a strangled sound deep in his throat, and it took him a long time before he was able to smile up at Rodney.

He tried to say something typically brash, but the pain was too much and instead he just closed his eyes to ride it out.

888

When Beckett entered the room looking hurried and strained, Rodney breathed an audible sigh of relief. Although he would never admit it out loud, it was a comfort to have Carson with them. Despite his self-acclaimed genius status, Rodney was not well versed in the field of medicine and did not completely trust the guess that he had made regarding Sheppard's condition. He tended to leave such things to the voodoo doctors of Carson's field, an act that allowed him to expend his genius within the proper circle of true science.

The sin of his brilliant pride; however, could not help but make a silent diagnosis that he thought was worthy of even Carson's talents.

Beckett took one look at Sheppard and cursed viciously. He turned to someone behind him, Rodney determined it was Sandrina by the tall, lithe figure she made, and he spat angry words at her.

"What kind of medicine do you practice here!" the doctor exclaimed, ferociously. "Don't you people know enough to take a history of the patient before attempting to treat him?"

The reason for Beckett's intense reaction hit Rodney hard then, and he realized now that his diagnosis was amateur at best, and that he wasn't the genius he had always thought he was after all.

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**Mwa Ha Ha**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: First, thanks to all of you for sending such wonderful feedback after the last two chapters of this story. Your words have really propelled me into true obsession with this fic! Second, I know it's been a while since I've updated, and I've hated the delay since I was enjoying the momentum of the story. Real life has just left me an illness-filled, snotty, feverish, puking mess for the past month (yes, count 'em…four weeks of this crap!), and I haven't been physically able to update until now. Even this chapter was written between bouts of sickness, and because of it I'm reserving the right to revise what is to follow once I'm feeling myself again (if I could only remember what that was like!). I want to thank Titan5 for offering to send me to the infirmary in a bed next to John's…that idea certainly perked me right the hell up! Thirdly, just a reminder, there are spoilers for Conversion and Poisoning the Well here. Fourth, I'm not a doctor! So if my medical explanations are a mess, well, like I've said before, this is all just make-believe anyway. Finally, I hope that you all enjoy this chapter, and here's hoping it all makes sense! Emrys**

The Weight of an Oath – Part 6

Carson could only gape as he listened to McKay's slightly insane hypothesis of what he thought was wrong with Sheppard. But despite its flaws, Rodney's inventive explanation was a highly complicated diagnosis and one more than worthy of the convoluted workings of the physicist's agile mind. Carson was actually slightly intrigued by the level of imagination that McKay's theory expressed, and if the Colonel wasn't in dire straits he may have let Rodney continue to elaborate. But, having succumbed to unconsciousness only moments earlier, Sheppard was obviously in trouble and needed attention. And so when Rodney began to attribute his friend's high fever to an as of yet undiscovered Pegasus galaxy flu aggravated by poor eating habits and recent insulin injections, Beckett interrupted him.

"Rodney, please, you're giving me a headache…."

"No, but really, Carson, your own people, your own voodoo brethren have attributed low immune function to bad eating habits. And anyway, what kind of doctor are you that you don't know that! Never mind, I don't want to know. I mean, I know that Sheppard just got eaten by a Wraith, but he was always that scrawny, you know, and how could that possibly be healthy? And it's not as if the Wraith aged him any or that he's showing symptoms of the serum's side effects, so that can't be it. I'm telling you Carson, it's all of those candy bars that he's got stashed away. Sugar's just awful for the human body, but…."

"Sweet Jesus, man! I think you've finally cracked under the pressure!" Carson realized that Rodney really was at his wit's end and had obviously wandered far into denial. And the doctor couldn't really blame the man. He wasn't sure how well he would handle the stress of dealing with a gravely ill best friend away from his team and alone in an alien setting surrounded by strangers who were kidnappers and torturers. And Beckett wasn't naïve enough to believe that Rodney didn't blame himself for the Colonel's condition. It seemed to be an unhealthy pattern of behavior between the two men that when one was hurt, the other shouldered the blame. And as he placed a calming hand on Rodney's arm, Carson realized that he should have recommended more sessions with Kate after the Aurora fiasco than he had. That was something that would have to be rectified when they returned to Atlantis.

"Babbling on like my grandmother isn't going to help Colonel Sheppard," Carson said forcibly to McKay in an effort to get the man to focus. "Now come and help me with him!"

The worry in Rodney's face deepened, but at the same time the proud man managed to look affronted by Carson's tone. His jaw jutted out contentiously as he sullenly muttered, "Hey, I'm not the one who was kidnapped without even knowing it."

Realizing that Rodney was only worried about his friend and relieved to see the physicist edging his way to Sheppard's side, Carson bit back a tight response to the sarcastic comment. Besides, what Rodney said was true. When Teyla had walked through the Stargate with a Netharian escort beside her and had demanded Carson's presence, no one, not one of them had managed to pick up on the desperate hints that she had attempted to relay to them that something was terribly wrong. And, okay, so her words and gestures had been subtle, but the message should have been clear to them all.

In fact, Carson hadn't caught on that things were wrong until Rodney had explained it all to him only moments ago. Teyla had been briskly ushered away while he had been discussing the Colonel's condition with a lovely lass named Sandrina, and he had been so distracted that he hadn't noticed the Athosian's disappearance. It had been an utterly stupid lack of attention that had led him to this moment in time, and Carson couldn't help but blame himself for only making worse the situation that Sheppard's team was experiencing.

And so he restrained the retort that came to his mouth when Rodney chided him and instead pulled McKay closer to Sheppard's side. He grabbed John's right hand and pulled the sleeve of the tunic-like shirt that the now quiescent man was wearing to expose the flesh on his inner arm. What he observed didn't overly surprise him, but he was unhappy to see it anyway.

Rodney noticed Carson's forlorn look, and panic blossomed within him.

"What? What's wrong?" he asked anxiously.

Shaking his head despondently, Carson grimly showed Rodney the inflamed tissue on Sheppard's arm. "Have you ever heard of Occam's Razor, Rodney?" he asked quietly.

"Of course I have," McKay snapped, indignantly. "It's the idea that the simplest explanation is most often the right one. But I don't see what that has to do with…."

"Rodney, in medicine, Occam's Razor usually applies. The Netharians never should have exposed Colonel Sheppard to that serum," Carson said, grimly.

"What? What? Do you mean the retrovirus? No, that's not right. It's like I was saying before…."

"Rodney stop being purposefully dense," Carson scolded. "You must have at least an inkling of what's really happening here. I know that it's difficult to face, but pretending that his condition isn't as serious as it is won't help the Colonel."

"I just…it's just that…it's too much, Carson," Rodney stammered in a harsh whisper almost as if he were afraid that John would hear his admission. "He keeps getting hurt, and I'm always the one that's responsible for it. I can't take much more of this. I mean, we had to electrocute him the last time, and now…. Now this is bad, isn't it? Really, really bad."

Carson felt his eyes soften with the compassion he felt for Rodney. McKay tended to bottle up his emotions and hide them behind sarcasm and a biting wit. Consequently, Carson was glad that the scientist had communicated part of what he was feeling and hoped that the stress and pressure that was affecting McKay was somewhat alleviated in the telling. But it was revealing of the conflict with which Rodney was struggling that he had blurted out his strong fears in the first place.

"Aye, he's in trouble," Carson said softly while rifling through their supplies. "But hiding from that fact won't help him. And since we're in a bit of a tough spot, I need you to use that brain of yours to think up a way out of this muddle. Dwelling on the past and placing blame where it doesn't belong is only going to keep you from coming up with all of the answers. So I need you to do what you do best and figure out a brilliant way out of here," Carson forcibly brightened his voice and hoped that the attempt to boost McKay's ego wouldn't come back to haunt him later.

Rodney's slumped posture straightened with the physician's words, and he too forced a more positive response out of his mouth.

"That's right," he said, almost choking on the words. "I am the answer man after all. Thanks for reminding me, Carson." Rodney compelled himself to smile and puffed his chest in strained pride. "All I'll need is a minute. Just one minute and boundless, brilliant ideas will begin to flash within the synapses of my fabulous brain. This is a piece of cake." Rodney's posture straightened further as he seemed to become galvanized by his own false bravado. "Hey, I feel better already. What were you so worried about anyway, Carson? It's like you had no faith in me. No worries. I'll have us out of here in a jiffy."

Carson rolled his eyes and silently prayed for patience. "Of that, I have no doubt," he said dryly and then turned back to tackle his other patient's troubles.

888

John woke to the sounds of Carson and Rodney's bickering.

"Concentrate harder!" McKay's voice held a level of irritation that John recognized as the one he usually applied when something wasn't working according to one of the physicist's grandiose plans.

"Yelling at me won't help, Rodney!" Carson snapped back.

Despite there being a certain level of normalcy about the two men's arguing, there was an intensity of frustration resounding in both of their tones that was anything but normal. Curious, John curled up on his side to get a better look at what his friends were fighting about. The slight movement left him shaking with exhaustion, and he felt sweat begin to drench his back and chest. He had a moment to see Carson and Rodney hunched over an exposed door mechanism before a wave of dizziness assaulted him, and he was forced to close his eyes against it.

A firm hand clasped his shoulder, and alarmed at the sudden and unexpected contact, he opened his eyes. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief when he saw only Carson's blurry form in front of him and Rodney's less distinct form somewhere behind the doctor.

"What's…going…on?" he asked in a voice that was barely above the level of a whisper. The three words left him oddly out of breath, and he had to close his eyes against another wave of dizziness.

"Sheppard?" Rodney's voice was laced with a worry that he generally reserved for major equipment failures and imminent nuclear explosions. John suddenly didn't want to know what was happening, but he reopened his eyes anyway.

"Happening?" he breathed with less strength than he had before.

"We're still on Netharia, Colonel," Carson replied quickly. "We're trying to open the doors to this room, but Rodney's having a real go of it."

"Well, if your gene wasn't so puny, we may have been out of here by now!" Rodney exclaimed exasperatedly.

"Oh, fine! Blame it on my DNA if it makes you feel better, Rodney! But we need to get out of here, so why don't you go back to your tinkering and let me talk to the Colonel for a bit!" The increasing thickness of Carson's accent was an indication of the Scotsman's own level of exasperation.

The physicist responded by throwing up his hands, muttering something incomprehensible, and then staring carefully at John as if trying to assess something. John began to feel uncomfortable under McKay's intent gaze, and he was about to tell the man to quit it when Rodney simply stormed off and began snapping his fingers over the door panel again. Puzzled by McKay's bizarre behavior, John watched him for a while until Carson drew his attention away.

"How are you feeling, Colonel? Are you still in pain?"

"No…just…weak," John said. He felt a pull of bone-deep exhaustion, and his eyes blinked slowly as he fought against sleep. He needed to know what was happening, and Carson's expressive face was telling him that he had the answers.

Carson again squeezed his shoulder gently, but with enough strength to help John to focus on keeping his bleary eyes open.

"Okay, Colonel, I know you're not feeling well, so I'll make this quick. I think the initial pain you felt was from the Wraith feeding on you, but overall the Hoffan serum protected you from the trauma. I don't think you'll be experiencing that level of discomfort again."

John grimaced with the memory, but was grateful for the news. The pain had been…bad. He didn't want to go through that again.

"Okay, now I'm afraid I have a bit of bad news for you, Colonel. Do you remember me telling you, after the whole, well, retrovirus disaster, that a percentage of your body cells continue to express Iratus bug proteins on their surfaces?"

John's grimace deepened into an outright frown. He did remember. One hundred percent John Sheppard, with a little added bugginess to make things way too interesting. He also remembered being freaked out by that little piece of information despite Beckett's enthusiastic assurances that his initial, John Sheppard genome had been wholly reset and reactivated. Beckett had called the protein production an anomaly and nothing to worry about. He had insisted that the proteins did not inhibit any of his normal physical processes and had even suspected that the situation would resolve itself with time.

So why did John just get the idea that these supposedly anomalous, inactive, and unaggressive proteins were about to take an overly large chunk out of his ass?

"Yeah…I…remember," he said. Another wave of fatigue threatened to undo him, but he gasped his way through it and managed to hold onto his concentration.

"Colonel, the largest percent of those proteins are being expressed on the surface of your red blood cells. Fewer still are found on your skin cells and even less on the cells of your major organ systems. I still believe that the production of these proteins will cease with time, but until it does, your body recognizes them as part of who you are," Carson continued his explanation with another comforting squeeze to John's shoulder and a look of strong concern that, inanely, made John want to laugh.

"Great," he said, instead of laughing like he wanted.

"From what I've been told, the Netharians have changed the original Hoffan serum so that instead of entering all of the cells in a body, it only enters those responsible for stimulating an immune reaction. Upon doing so, a certain percentage of naïve immune cells are genetically reprogrammed to produce antibody against Wraith proteins. It's really an amazing feat of genetic manipulation, and I honestly don't understand how they managed it in the short amount of time they've had to work on it. But nevertheless…."

"Doc…bottom…line," Sheppard interrupted. He felt a familiar sense of fear and outrage at the recognition that his DNA had been fooled around with again, but the exhaustion he was feeling negated any outward demonstration of his feelings.

"Colonel, I believe that the antibodies that are being produced to attack Wraith proteins are also attacking the cells in your body that continue to express the innocuous Iratus bug proteins," Beckett said, hurriedly. "We know that the two species are at least distantly related, and an artificial autoimmune response seems like the best explanation for your current symptoms."

"Well, that…can't…be…good," John responded with a weak uplifting of his brows.

"It's not, Colonel. In fact, it's very, very bad. I need to get you back to Atlantis and depress your immune system until we can determine how to reverse the antibody production. The fatigue and shortness of breath that you're obviously experiencing are signs that your red blood cells have already been compromised. We need to get out of here as quickly as possible."

"How's that…going?" John was alarmed by the seriousness of Beckett's words, but he was slowly losing the fight against collapse. He briefly struggled with another surge of fear, but pushed his anxiety aside. He needed answers, and he needed them far too quickly to be distracted by panic.

"Like I said before, Rodney's having quite a go of it. Apparently my ATA gene isn't helping with the process of opening the door as much as he would have liked," Beckett said ruefully.

"It's a scrawny weakling of an ATA gene, Carson!" Rodney exclaimed from his position by the door.

"Well it's stronger than yours, isn't it Rodney? At least I got the mechanism to light up and squawk a bit. What were you able to do?" Carson countered loudly.

John smiled slightly when McKay began to mutter in an aggrieved tone again. He closed his eyes briefly and was surprised to see Rodney hovering over him when he reopened them. He must have drifted off briefly, because Carson had moved to the other side of his bed and was checking his pulse.

"Colonel, do you think you're strong enough to help with the door?" Rodney asked. "Your gene is the most robust," he added by way of explanation.

"I'll…give it…a shot," John said, wheezing badly. His body was screaming at him to lie still, but he ignored it. "Help…me up," he instructed and shifted his arms weakly.

"Rodney, I don't think that this is a good idea," Carson said in response to the course of action.

"We…have…to," John replied, precluding any argument that Rodney may have given.

"All right, but go slow," Beckett said, and John missed the meaningful look the doctor gave to McKay.

Rodney and Carson slowly hauled the Colonel to a sitting position. With the change in posture, John saw starbursts break over his vision, and sweat began to slick his skin again. Carson noted Sheppard's obvious discomfort and indicated to Rodney to stop moving the sick man.

"Colonel, are you okay?" Beckett asked, anxiously.

"Fine…I'm just…." John's claims were cut short when the starbursts became all that he could see until he was plunged back into darkness where he saw nothing at all.


	7. Chapter 7

The Weight of an Oath – Part 7

Torca sat behind her desk and, looking out her broad, office window considered the crystalline spires of the city's highest towers. They were beautiful, as beautiful as every other part of the city, as beautiful as every lake, forest, and field that could be found on her world. Her world that was filled with a splendor that was breath taking and wondrous both. Her world that she loved with all of her being.

She stood to move closer to the window, to observe the vastness of the clear sky and the clean green meadow that surrounded the western edges of the city. She knew with utter certainty that there was no world like hers anywhere else in this galaxy. Knew that the presence of the Wraith tended to preclude the continuation of the knowledge that her people had gathered. Knew that it was only the Oath that had enabled her people to sustain that knowledge and with it, the beauty that surrounded her.

Torca turned from the window and studied her office, a thing of which she was so very proud. This room had been hard won, and its opulence was indicative of the importance her position carried in her society. Yet, despite her successes, she was very young and an irregularity in the system of things. Far too young to have obtained the status she now held, but quick-witted beyond her years. She had fought hard to attain her achievements and was pleased to have been called one of the youngest to take the Oath.

But her youth was often a disadvantage when dealing with those in her field. She was rarely taken seriously, despite the fact that she was quite often correct in her suppositions. To make matters far worse, she had none of the cold, statuesque beauty that was valued amongst her people and that often lead to the most prestigious of ranks. In fact, if it had not been for the keen mind of her mentor in the Colleges, she would never have been recognized as worthy of the position of Assistant Scientist at the Governmental Institute.

Torca began to pace as she felt the conflict begin to surge within her again. She was an Assistant Scientist, not ranked as Full, and few and far between were the times when Sandrina took her seriously. The lack of respect associated with Assistant status had been indicated in the current situation when Sandrina had refused to listen to her cautions about testing the Atlantean in his overly sedated state. Torca had suspected that the effect of the sedative on John Sheppard had to do with differences in Netharian and Atlantean physiology and had pleaded to Sandrina to delay further experiments until they could elucidate the physical differences between their two people. She had emphasized the dangers that could be put upon Sheppard if they were not cautious, but she had been summarily excused, her words ignored.

She _was_ very young, the Oath but a new weight that was currently pressing heavily against her thoughts and heart. She stopped pacing to look out the window again and noted, with some surprise, that the city was not quite as beautiful as she had once thought it was.

John Sheppard had done nothing to bring upon the pain that she and her colleagues had visited him. She had caught glimpses of him during the first of the Atlantean visits and, when given the opportunity had watched him carefully, her eye drawn to his physical beauty. She had also watched as he agreed to help her people in their work and had laughed quietly when she had heard him speak playfully with the others of his team.

She suspected that he was a very good man.

She had been secretly against any of the testing from the very beginning, but the Oath was everything. It was sacrosanct. Even now, the words rang in her ears, thrummed through her arteries.

_I will do all to protect._

She had resisted her inner conflict at the beginning of the experiments, because she and every other Netharian on her world knew that at one time or another their commitment would be tested. It was not meant to be an easy thing, this Oath, but it was a necessity that could not be denied.

_In doing so I show my love and commitment to my people, my world, and my life._

And so she had ignored the swirling thoughts and emotions that were still driving her to distraction. Tried to make it easier for Sheppard when he was sick and weak by supplicating to her superiors. Tried to minimize the horror of what was being done to him.

_This is the solemn Oath that binds my heart, my mind, and my very soul._

Only to have been ignored every step of the way. And through it all, Sheppard had stood up to the atrocities bravely and had not been diminished by his struggle against her and her people. Her face burned with the realization that his valiance shamed her, and that his courage remained unrecognized by the others in her oh so precious world.

_I am nothing if I withhold it, but everything having given it._

Attempting to ignore her feelings yet again, she prepared a cup of soothing tea. Sitting back behind her desk, she brought the cup to her lips and relished in its refreshment. It tasted of rare herbs and wild flowers that she imagined grew upon the hillside far from the outer edge of the eastern city. She had visited there once, with her father when she was a child. She smiled and tried to recall the awe with which she had experienced that green and fertile place. Tried to remember the immeasurable blue of the sky. An image of Sheppard, sick and weak, came to her mind instead, and the tea became a bitter tonic in her mouth. She choked on its ruined flavor, and sobbed wildly as she threw the cup away from her. It shattered against the window.

_I will do all to protect._

She suspected that he was a good man, and she was very young.

888

Carson and Rodney's hold on Sheppard's body strengthened as the man slumped forward in unconsciousness. Beckett cursed and then bellowed at Rodney to help him settle the Colonel back onto the bed so that he could assess his condition. Rodney did as he was instructed and did so, for once, without question. Once the Colonel was settled, Beckett began to take the man's pulse and checked his respiration rate. Both were too fast, and Carson began to worry.

"We have to get him back to Atlantis," he said to Rodney without looking away from Sheppard.

"Well there's something I didn't know already!" McKay snapped.

The breaking edge to the physicist's voice drew Carson's attention. He looked up to see Rodney furiously pacing and quite distraught.

"Rodney, why don't you keep working on the door? Maybe you'll find something that you haven't seen before," Carson suggested, hoping to distract McKay from the distress he was obviously experiencing.

"The door's not working!" Rodney exclaimed. "Nothing I do to it is going to get us out of here, at least not without Colonel Sheppard's help."

"Okay, okay, then, calm down, Rodney and let's think about this. I can buy the Colonel some time if the Netharians have medicines that will depress his immune system. I wouldn't be too happy about using alien medications, but since I wasn't prepared for his condition, I'll take anything I can get. Do you think the scientists would be amenable to sharing immuno-depressants with us?"

"Yes," Rodney said, scathingly. "He's their little lab experiment. I'm pretty sure they'd be happy to give him anything that will keep the testing from being delayed."

Still aghast that he had not been called to Netharia exclusively for medical reasons, Carson wasn't too pleased with the implications of Rodney's statement. He fought the anger that seemed to be his constant companion ever since he had been tricked into being an accomplice to the experiment that was being run on Colonel Sheppard, and instead considered his limited medical resources.

If only he had known beforehand what had been done to the Colonel, he could have brought the correct medicines, could have done a measure of good. Instead, he was forced to rely on the capriciousness of the people who had tricked him, and who were currently holding him and his friends against their will.

"How long do you think it will be until they come to check on us?" Carson remained disturbed that the Netharians had not bothered to confirm Sheppard's medical status and couldn't help but question why the scientists were being so negligent.

"Sheppard told me that they've read the Hoffan records about your involvement with the serum. Apparently, your work with the serum impressed some of the higher ups, so they probably think you can create wine out of water or some such nonsense," Rodney said, managing to answer Beckett's unspoken question and to convey his cynical thoughts on the subject at the same time. Beckett just glared inhospitably at the man. "Well, yes, anyway," Rodney continued. "The little one usually comes by about every three hours. Three seems to be a magic number for her. Although I couldn't…." Rodney halted his diatribe, and his eyes narrowed.

"What? What did you just think of?" Carson asked.

"Nothing terribly important. It's just, if they come bearing Ancient gifts, try not to turn them on or else I think you'll be next in line as lab rat."

"Oh great! That's just absolutely great! You know, this damn gene has been the bane of my existence ever since…."

Anything else that Carson would have said was lost when Sheppard groaned and shifted uneasily on the bed. Beckett grabbed John's arm and desperately willed the man back to consciousness. After a short while, the Colonel's eyes opened wearily, and he made a tired attempt to take in his surroundings.

"What happened?" Sheppard asked the other two men, weakly.

Rodney moved closer to Sheppard's side and answered his question.

"You…passed out," he said, resisting the urge to use the word "faint." John's expression sharpened anyway, as if he could tell exactly what Rodney was really thinking. Rodney only returned the look smugly and refused to say anything further.

"How long?" he asked, conserving his words and thereby his breath. He just couldn't seem to get enough air into his lungs.

"Not long," Carson said, pleased that at least the Colonel had been able to recover in a short period of time. "It was only a few minutes."

"Good," Sheppard said. "The door?"

"We, uh, well, we really didn't get that far," Rodney said, sheepishly. "You passed out before we even got you off the bed."

"Should try…again," Sheppard insisted. He struggled to move, but his efforts only left him shaking and sick.

"Later, son. You need to rest now," Carson said and placed a restraining hand on John's right shoulder. Rodney, he saw, did the same thing on Sheppard's left side.

"Need to…we need…to get…out," John gasped, but his drooping eyelids belied the persistence of his words.

"We will," Rodney said. "Just rest for now."

Carson was grateful that the physicist's single-minded nature had been diverted from opening the door to conserving what little remained of Sheppard's health.

Sheppard struggled a little bit more, but against his will he slipped into sleep. At the same time, the door opened, and Torca entered the room. Carson threw Rodney a panicked look, because door parts were still strewn across the front end of the room. Rodney looked grim and shrugged. It appeared as if the physicist was beyond caring whether or not he got caught.

Torca gave the mess near the door only a cursory glance, before turning a troubled look onto Sheppard.

"You're early," Rodney said caustically. "It hasn't been three hours yet."

Torca ignored the tenor of the comment and instead accosted Carson.

"How is he?"

"He'd be a whole hell of a lot better if you hadn't been injecting him with that serum and feeding him to Wraith!" Rodney exclaimed in frustration.

"I am not addressing you, Doctor McKay," Torca said in response. Rodney appeared to steel himself for another outburst, but Carson flung up a placating hand to prevent McKay from speaking out again. There was something in Torca's expression that Carson found indefinable, but that, at the same time, allowed a small spark of hope to flare within him.

"His condition is serious, lass," he said truthfully. He paused and then stared at her piercingly. "I don't understand how you can do this."

"It is the Oath," she said, feebly.

"Oh yes, the Oath," Rodney sneered. "Sheppard told us all about it. A sacred excuse to perform any unethical deed to anyone who isn't you. It's completely amoral and…."

"Rodney," Carson said softly. "Stop."

The peculiar way in which Beckett had said the words shut McKay up instantly. Carson sent him an imploring look and silently directed the physicist's attention to Torca. McKay looked at the woman but could not discern what it was that Carson was trying to communicate to him. He shrugged at the doctor, and, exasperated, Carson sent him a second glance that was obvious in its insistence.

Beckett wanted Rodney to shut the hell up.

Happy that at least he had gotten one message across to the suddenly dense physicist, Carson ignored the instinctive prickliness that Rodney emanated in response to his unspoken directive. Instead, he returned his attention to Torca.

"The Oath is everything," Torca tried to explain, but Carson was not deaf to the lack of conviction with which the words were spoken. Nor was he blind to the tears brimming within her eyes.

"It's still wrong, lass," Carson said, not unkindly.

Her tears spilled over with his words, and she angrily brushed them away. She moved closer to Sheppard and placed a delicate hand on his chest as if attempting to determine that he still breathed.

"Is he a good man?" she whispered.

"Yes, lass. Perhaps one of the best," Carson said, gently, almost reverently.

She closed her eyes and stood there for a while longer. The tears came faster, but she did not remove her hand from Sheppard's chest to brush them away.

After a moment she pulled away from Sheppard and straightened her posture. Carson saw that the tears had stopped and that a hard decision had been made.

"Bring him and follow me," Torca commanded, and thereby broke her Oath.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU for all of your kind reviews!**

The Weight of an Oath – Part 8

"Wait! Damn it, just wait!" Rodney shouted the words almost as if he couldn't believe he was saying them.

"What? Rodney, now's our chance to get out of here and get the Colonel some real help. What's gotten into you?" Carson asked, frantically.

"Believe me, I want out of here as much as you do," Rodney assured. "But Sheppard would have my head if he knew I let things happen this way."

"I don't understand," Torca said, nervously. "I only want to help. What is it that…."

"Do you? Do you really want to help?" Rodney asked, critically. "Because if you do, walking out of this room without even a half-assed plan in place isn't the way to do it."

Cold realization stole over Beckett as he recognized that Rodney was right. Carson had just been so relieved by the possibility of getting Sheppard out of the room that he had neglected to see the reality of the situation. If they had any real chance of successfully escaping Netharia, they would need more than one young woman's desire to get them out of harm's way. And more than likely, they were going to have to ask quite a lot from Torca since she was their only ally on the planet.

"He's right, lass," Carson acknowledged, gravely. "How much are you willing to do to help us?"

"I, I just want this to end. I want him to recover. I want every awful thing we've done to him to be erased," Torca said. The brimming tears finally began to slide down her face as she stared at Sheppard with a strong expression that Carson found difficult to decipher.

"Oh for God's sake, he's never allowed to call me Kirk again," Rodney said derisively, having misinterpreted Torca's expression.

"Rodney!" Carson admonished as Torca turned her hurt gaze towards the physicist.

"This is not an easy decision for me, Doctor McKay," she said, emphatically. Although she had not understood the insult, she recognized its tone, and against its force she straightened her small frame and reached for quiet composure. "By giving aid to Colonel Sheppard, I will be subject to the strictest of punishments, and my name will be nothing more than an unmentionable disgrace to my entire race. Yet I am willing to make this sacrifice for him and for you, because I sense that under all of your political machinations, you are an admirable people that do not deserve the treatment you have received at our hands. For this reason, I must beg of you to do me the small honor of keeping your insults to yourself."

Rodney had the good sense to be embarrassed, and he muttered a reluctant apology before beginning to pace the floor. Never one to be bothered much by what others around him thought; however, he began interrogating Torca very soon after the minor altercation had been resolved. Carson, feeling pity for the poor girl, smiled at her hoping to convey some level of support.

"Can you get us to the Stargate?" Rodney asked.

"No," Torca replied, with an abject bluntness that immediately dashed Carson's hopes. The expression on her face became troubled, as she also seemed to comprehend the full extent of the difficulties their escape may bring. "The Portal in the city has been heavily guarded ever since your people arrived. Citizen Setarcos wishes to be prepared in the eventuality that your people become suspicious of your absence and send a contingent of warriors."

"Sweet Jesus," Carson breathed and sat heavily in the only chair in the room.

"Okay, then," Rodney said as he tried to digest the information. "Any chance that we can get to our weapons?"

"Even if I had access to them, I would not allow it. Regardless of the situation, I will not put any of my people in danger," Torca said coldly. "I am willing to help, but not at so high a cost."

"All right, understandable," Rodney responded hastily, heeding Carson's warning glare. "Well then, is there any way else off of this planet?"

Torca seemed to consider their options carefully before making a suggestion. "There is another Portal far from the city," she eventually admitted. "Provided that I could obtain transportation, it would still take two entire day cycles to make it there. But it is a possibility."

"You have another Stargate on this planet?" Rodney asked, excitedly.

"Why yes. Do you not have two Portals on Atlantis?"

"Well, not that I know of," Rodney said. "Maybe we should start looking when we get back. Two 'gates would make life so much more interesting. I mean, we could…."

"Rodney," Carson cautioned, sensing the imminent eruption of scientific blathering.

"Oh, yes. Let's see." It took a moment for Rodney to get back on track, and Carson smiled reassuringly at Torca in the interim. "Reaching the second Stargate would be excellent. Very good."

"I will attempt to make arrangements," Torca said gracefully.

"Oh, and do you have any suggestion about how to get our other friends out of here as well? I mean, I have the idea that Ronon could draw some serious attention while he's meandering through the hallways. Giant, Bob Marley wannabes are just not easily missed," Rodney said, grimly.

Torca bit her lip and ran a delicate hand through her shimmering hair. She suddenly seemed nervous.

"It is dangerous," she said.

"I know it's a lot to ask, lass," Carson responded, reassuringly. "But you're right. We don't belong here, and we have to get home. It's not fair what your people have done to us."

The petite Netharian nodded regally and again considered their options.

"If we are to get every member of your party out of this facility, we will have to wait until Sandrina and the other Scientists have left for the evening. That will not be for hours yet," she finally said. "Once they are gone, there will be no one else in the building to outrank me, and any direction I give will not be questioned."

"Now it's starting to sound like a plan," Rodney said, hopefully.

"I think that it will draw less attention if the three of you leave separately from your other two companions. I will arrange a way out of the building for you. Afterwards, I will establish some excuse to bring the others out of their room. The Scientists allowed the one called Teyla to go to the Portal under heavy guard earlier. I may be able to use a similar pretext that will allow your friends some flexibility of movement through the Institute. To minimize suspicion, I will escort you, if necessary," Torca said.

Carson admired the woman's ingenuity and was also pleased to note that she seemed more confident in her decision to help. If it could be arranged, her plan had a fair chance of working.

Yet, he couldn't help but suspect that the strategy was riddled with flaws. He felt himself begin to feel jittery at the thought of the whole thing backfiring in their faces and suddenly longed for the inviting comfort of home. Not Atlantis, but the warm hearth and comforting smells of his mother's house in Scotland.

Rodney clapped his hands and rubbed them together vigorously. The unexpected sound drew Carson away from his nostalgic thoughts, and he turned towards the irritating man. Rodney looked nervous to Carson, but eager as well. "Sounds like we have a plan!" he announced to the group.

"That seemed easy enough," Carson said, breathing deeply and forcibly ignoring his doubts. "And we've thought of everything, right? I mean really? Everything?"

"Everything!" Rodney said with confidence and an unexpected wink at Torca.

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"Are you…all…nuts!" Sheppard exclaimed in a breathless whisper several hours later. He struggled to sit up but failed miserably at the task. As he gasped desperately for breath, he thought about the smug and satisfied expression McKay's face had held when he had regained consciousness to find the man standing far too close. He had only been given a moment to orient himself and to recognize that McKay looked tweaked about something before what had been dubbed "The Brilliant Plan" had been explained to him.

Even in his compromised state, it had only taken John seconds to realize that the so-called plan was far from brilliant. Light years away from brilliant. In fact, the plan's conception made Sheppard seriously consider the benefits of relegating all scientists to the laboratory and away…far, far, away…from the field.

"No, not feeling particularly crazy here," McKay responded sarcastically to Sheppard's startled pronouncement. "I take it you find The Plan defective in some way?"

"How…'bout…several ways," John huffed. He wished that he could more easily communicate his adamant lack of faith in their strategy, but his breathlessness seemed to defeat that goal. He pressed on regardless. "First…can…we trust her? Haven't…even seen…her."

"Don't be ridiculous! Yes, you have! She's small!"

Lacking breath, John only rolled his eyes in response. The discourteous move also helped him to hide the alarm he felt at not being able to recall ever meeting their apparent collaborator.

"Colonel, I also have my doubts about this plan," Carson said honestly, throwing him a dubious look. "But Torca's trustworthiness is not one of them. She means what she says."

John took a moment to study Beckett's face. The doctor tended to be a good judge of character, much better than Rodney was. His endorsement of the Netharian scientist would have to be enough.

"'Kay," he conceded, though he was far from mollified. He thought for a bit longer, finding the process harder than he would have liked. "Still a…bad…idea. We need to wait for…'Lizabeth."

"What? What is she going to do? There's a regiment of soldiers standing in front of the 'gate waiting for our people to come through. They'd be captured as soon as the very first gorilla stepped through the event horizon."

"Not true," Sheppard said, resenting the implication that his people were unprepared.

"That may be, Colonel," Carson interrupted when he saw Rodney was about to launch into another diatribe. "But your health is seriously compromised. We can't wait for Elizabeth."

"Doesn't matter," Sheppard gasped, thoughtlessly.

"Oh, well that's just rich!" Rodney responded acerbically before Carson could stop him. "Your self-sacrificing, hero complex has just reached new heights of craziness, do you know that?"

Sheppard didn't have the strength to do anything more than to ferociously glare at the man.

"Oh, go ahead. Give me a dirty look. See if I mind!" Rodney countered, and John suddenly realized that McKay was furious with him. Almost as quickly, he realized that he didn't care if Rodney was pissed. It was his job to make sure his team was safe, and proceeding with the scientists' plan was not the way to do that.

"Fine! Just fine!" the physicist exclaimed, easily interpreting John's unvoiced argument from the look on his face. "I know that you chronically carry around the moronic notion that you have to take care of all of us. But like I've said, many, many times, I already have a mother. And besides, did it ever occur to you that you may not be the only one these maniacs are interested in doing their little experiments on? Did you even consider that they might move on to others who have the gene, like Carson? Or me for that matter?" Rodney paused and seemed nervously distracted by the thought of becoming a human guinea pig.

"It's true, Colonel," Carson interjected solemnly while monitoring John's pulse. "The Netharians may even have reasons for using Ronon and Teyla despite the fact that neither one of them carries the Ancient gene. It's hard to understand their motives."

John studied his friends' faces for a moment longer, and then closed his eyes against an onslaught of dizziness. He was exhausted and couldn't think. He also felt completely out of control of the situation and found himself uncomfortable with that fact.

He struggled to find anything but merit in what his two friends had told him, but failed. The plan was ludicrous, but if Carson and Rodney were right then they really didn't have a choice.

"Tell, Torca…give Ronon…my Almond Joys…if she…can…find…them. Pocket…of…my vest," he finally said, choking under the dual weights of illness and defeat.

"I think all of that oxygen deprivation is finally having an effect on him," Rodney said, with a look on his face that was a mixture between worry and perplexity.

John glared angrily at McKay's dim wittedness and felt an intense need to punch him square on the jaw.

"He won't…trust…her…otherwise," he explained with a bland look.

He was sure that Rodney said something then, but suddenly he could not hear properly. He groaned as he felt his body tense against the bitter effects of nausea, and as his vision tunneled. He had wanted to at least take some pleasure in calling McKay, the self-proclaimed genius of the Pegasus galaxy, an idiot before succumbing to unconsciousness again. But it seemed that he was meant to fail in that task as well.


	9. Chapter 9

The Weight of an Oath – Part 9

John didn't remember the remainder of the day and knew next to nothing of the harrowing attempt to escape the scientific facility. In fact, his next memory after arguing with Carson and Rodney about the foolhardiness of "The Plan" was of being slightly sickened by the image of a fast-moving ceiling. The movement abruptly stopped, although inertia kept him sliding forward off of what he could only guess was some sort of gurney. Strong hands grabbed him, and he registered a deep aching in his side before three pairs of eyes stared down at him.

He recognized Carson and McKay's frantic faces, but the third offered only vague familiarity.

He tried to ask who the small woman was, but was capable of only strangled wheezing. Some sort of mask was hastily placed over his mouth and nose, and as oxygen was drawn into his lungs, he felt his head clear a bit.

"Who's…she?" he finally managed to ask from beneath the stifling pressure of the mask.

"Colonel, this is Torca," Rodney said, unceremoniously. "We're in the middle of our escape, so if we could keep any further introductions for later, I think we'll all end up appreciating it," he then added when he saw the woman begin to say something further.

John saw the woman glare imperiously at McKay and realized that the physicist was following his normal modus operandi of pissing off their allies during the worst possible times. John smiled briefly at Torca but was forced to close his eyes when the ceiling started moving again. As he was pushed down a darkened hallway, he could only hope that McKay's penchant for alienating them all from the…well, aliens…wouldn't add any further drawbacks to the already flawed plan.

His next memories were a disorienting blend of movement, strong words, and hurried activity. Nothing made sense until he found himself crushed in a cramped space and slouched weakly against Rodney. He felt pressure on his left wrist and recognized the gentle touch. The solid bulk pushed into his left side could only be Beckett.

"Where?" John asked, his voice an imperceptible whisper. The others didn't seem to hear him, but despite another attempt to make his conscious presence known, he couldn't manage any more words after that. The weakness that had been assailing him for what seemed like days had not loosened its hold on him, and it was a monumental fight just to keep his eyes open. As what little strength he actually had was slowly sapped from him, holding his head even in its current position against a somewhat soft surface suddenly became an impossibility, and he allowed it to loll completely onto Rodney's shoulder.

"Carson, I believe that Colonel Sheppard has awakened," John heard, with monumental relief, the sound of Teyla's voice from somewhere to his far right. He gave silent thanks to the Athosian's extraordinary hearing, because making any further attempt at vocalized communication was going to take a lot more strength than he was prepared to give at the moment.

"Colonel? Colonel Sheppard? Are you awake?" The voice was Carson's.

John abruptly realized that in the confined space with his body slumped away from Beckett's, speaking again was probably going to be an inevitability since the doctor wouldn't be able to clearly see his face and half-opened eyes. He summoned strength he couldn't afford to use and managed to breathe out that one word again.

"Where?"

"In a some sort of car headed towards the Stargate," Carson answered with relief quite evident in his tone.

"A very small car," Rodney grumbled, and John was relieved to hear the sarcastic prattle, relieved to hear the others' voices and to know that at least they were out of that awful place. He closed his eyes against a sudden swell of emotion that was just as suddenly dashed as he realized that there was one voice that had remained conspicuously absent.

"Ronon?" he asked, as his alarm lent strength to his voice. He felt his heart pounding too fast, and the world became a dizzying place.

"Here, Sheppard," the gruff voice came from what he could only assume was the vicinity of a front seat, and John gasped through another strong surge of relief.

"We're all here, Colonel, and for the moment we're all safe," Carson said. "You need to stay calm and rest. It will take some time to reach the Stargate and although Torca brought medicines with her, I don't want to have to resort to using them unless it's absolutely necessary. From what Rodney and Torca have explained of your reaction to the Netharian sedative, I believe that there are differences in our physiologies. If we can keep you from going into shock, I think I'll be able to delay their use."

Beckett's words were only a confusing combination of inconsequentialities to Sheppard. He was still having trouble concentrating and so could not think beyond the relief that his team was safe. Not entirely sure what he was agreeing to, he nodded feebly, and then forced himself to relax. The others fell into silence that John sensed was fraught with worry. Yet despite the obvious tension within the tight space, he had almost been lulled to sleep by the movement of the car when Rodney shifted his body slightly. The change in position forced a series of gasped breaths out of John as a stabbing pain in his side made itself known.

"What? What happened? Oh God! What did I do? Are you okay? Sheppard? What's happening?" John couldn't respond to the litany of Rodney's concerns since the pain had advanced to an outright agony that flared all along his right side. He felt like he was going to pass out again, when the mask made a sudden reappearance and more cool air was forced over his nose and mouth. He breathed it in through staccato inhalations that were impeded by the torture in his side.

But with the administration of the oxygen, his head cleared and he was able to hear Rodney's voice continue its steady stream of worry.

"Is he okay now? I didn't mean to hurt him, it's just that his weight made my arm fall asleep, and I had to move it, and who knew that he was so heavy anyway? Look at him! He's so thin its ridiculous, and completely unfair, by the way. I wasn't kidding when I said before that he eats too much sugar. It's proof that this reality is prejudiced, because if it was a reasonable place to be, he'd be twice the size he is. And why is he so pale, anyway? It's…it's…well, I've never seen anyone who was that color. Are you sure he's…."

"Rodney, shut up!" Carson yelled, quickly quelling what was becoming typical McKay hysteria with skill that would have impressed John if he wasn't in complete misery.

John could hear Carson fumbling around with something, but he was unable to see what was going on since he was still trying to manage the pain that had momentarily stunned him.

"Colonel, I need you to open your eyes for me, if you can," Carson instructed him.

John hadn't actually realized that his eyes were closed, but he attempted to do what Carson asked. It was almost an impossible undertaking, and he considered just giving up and surrendering to unconsciousness. But a jolt from the car, followed by another stab of pain made the job suddenly easier. He groaned, forced his eyelids open, and blinked against the sting of sweat that rolled into his eyes.

"Colonel Sheppard, I need you to tell me what's wrong."

That was Carson again, and although John was more than happy to oblige, he wasn't sure if he was able. He took a moment and finally managed words in a short, whispered, stutter.

"My…my…side…hurts," he said, just barely conveying his distress. He was inordinately relieved when Teyla awkwardly leaned over Rodney and gently wiped the stinging perspiration from his face.

"Torca, can we stop yet?" Carson asked someone John couldn't see, but there was no way that he could miss the urgency in the doctor's voice.

"No, not yet. We are not even out of the limits of the city." The voice that answered Carson was fair and light, and John idly wondered who belonged to it. It took his distracted brain a moment to produce an image of the small Netharian woman. Afterwards he resisted the urge to laugh that was brought on by relief shaped from the realization that Rodney hadn't entirely pissed her off yet.

"Right," Carson sighed, and John had to fight against another urge to laugh at the unsurprised tone. The pain was slowly receding, and he felt almost giddy with its departure.

"Rodney," Carson said, "you're going to have to lift his shirt up and tell me what you see."

"What! Why me! You're the doctor!" Rodney exclaimed, clearly horrified at the thought of performing the task. This time, John couldn't resist the short laughter that bubbled out of him, but it incited more pain and so he quickly put an end to the outburst. "Oh, God, he's delirious!" Rodney exclaimed in a voice more panicked.

"Rodney, calm down!" Carson countered. "I can't reach that side without sitting on him, so I need you to calm down and do as I say." Carson's voice was dripping with last nerve irritation, and John had the sense that the doctor wanted to punch the physicist in the nose. John completely empathized with Beckett and forced down another bout of laughter. Instead of laughing, he closed his eyes again and concentrated on the difficult effort of breathing the cooled oxygen that the mask was still supplying him.

"Fine. Just fine! I'll do it," Rodney snapped unhappily.

John felt Rodney gently lift the shirt he was wearing from his side and couldn't entirely hold back the cry of pain that the slight shifting of the gauzy material caused. He opened his eyes to see Rodney leaning down and guessed that the dim light of the car necessitated a closer look. Rodney suddenly turned a particularly telling shade of green, and John closed his eyes in an attempt to deny the horror he saw on the man's face.

"Oh, that can't be good," McKay eventually said.

"What is it Rodney?" Carson asked grimly. John suspected that the doctor knew the exact answer to that question and just needed confirmation. John, himself, really needed to know what was causing the stabbing pain, but another sudden jolt of the car did him in. The pain grew too strong and took him over and down before he could hear McKay's answer.

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**A/N #2: Sorry, I know this was a little bit short, but it was all I had time to write. Plus I wanted to leave a modest cliffhanger. Mwa Ha Ha! Yes, my evil side did that on purpose!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Okay, well, here there be whumpage! And quite a bit of angst as well. I had planned to write this last week, but then the water pump in my car literally blew up, and so I got somewhat…shall we say?…distracted. It was not a good week. But things are better now, and I finally got this chapter written. It does have some reference to my other fic ("Iron String") in it, but I still think you're okay if you haven't read it.**

**As usual, I'm so grateful for all of your reviews. It's pretty insane the way I start looking for them immediately after I post. I never have time to respond individually to you guys, but every word gets read…and read…and read again!**

**As usual, I feel the need to say that I'm not a doctor in any sense of the word, so there are probably medical discrepancies here. Sorry about that, but it's just the way my reality is.**

**Hope you all enjoy it.**

**Em**

The Weight of an Oath – Part 10

Rodney knew he was acting unreasonably, but he couldn't help himself. There was just something about being held captive and having his best friend experimented on that made him feel on edge. And the memory of their recent, almost failed escape attempt that had only been resurrected by some authoritative words and excellent acting by Torca also didn't help his frame of mind much, nor did the semi-conscious form of the aforementioned best friend that was limply pressed against him.

So who could blame him for protesting when Beckett had asked him…no, ordered him…to have a look-see under Sheppard's shirt? Doctoring still wasn't part of his job description, and he had already cleaned up vomit. Wasn't that enough? Hadn't he done enough?

Apparently not, because although the last thing he wanted to do was to look at the thing that was causing his friend such pain, he was being forced to do just that.

Pulling up the shirt was easy enough, but looking at the ugly wound that was underneath it wasn't. As Rodney moved to take a closer look and recognized that whatever the wound was, it couldn't be good, he didn't even realize that he was speaking aloud. All he knew was that Sheppard was in even more trouble than they all had originally thought.

Beckett asked him what he saw, and as he tried to put a description together, the car jostled again. He felt Sheppard slump even further into him and saw that his friend had yielded to unconsciousness. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

He tried to ignore the Colonel's now fully unconscious weight, but frenzied worry made that job difficult. He made a concerted effort to pull himself together and somehow managed to find the necessary words.

"There's a wound, almost like a huge sore. It's…it's all along his side. Most of it is swollen, and it looks inflamed, and it's…it's…leaking fluid of some sort. Could be…god…it could be…uh…pus, but I'm not sure." Rodney spoke the words in a hurried rush that didn't completely dispel the nausea he was experiencing and then gently turned down the shirt to cover the awful sight. He studied Sheppard's haunted, pale face and fought back a sudden rush of despair.

This couldn't be happening. They had gotten him back from that terrible ordeal with the Aurora only weeks ago, and this just was not fair. He remembered the painstaking strides Sheppard had made to overcome the depression that had been brought on by the affliction from the Aurora's pods, remembered the frustration the man had experienced from the memory loss caused by the appalling treatment. In fact, during one of their recent chess games, Sheppard had confided to Rodney that the memory loss still plagued him, and that he was troubled by his belief that knowledge of some recent events would never be anything more to him than black and white words on a military report.

It had been an uncharacteristic admission, and Rodney had since found himself dwelling on its occurrence. He had been flattered that Sheppard had seen fit to entrust him with the information, but at the same time, he couldn't help but worry at its manifestation. The entire incident had disturbed him, and he still hadn't figured it out.

He felt that a reasonable explanation for the conversation happening had been that his friend was still experiencing bouts of depression, and so, out of concern, he had been planning on asking Sheppard about the confession. But Rodney was anything but a people person, and he had never figured out a way to broach the subject.

And now it looked as if he wasn't going to be given the chance.

An urgent voice shook him from his distracted thoughts, and he looked up as Beckett was desperately trying to get a point across.

"Torca, we need to stop now," the doctor was saying. "I need to take a look at that wound."

"It is too dangerous," Torca said, insistently. "We are not yet out of the city."

"It will just take a moment, lass."

Rodney saw Torca glare at the doctor via the reflective surface that wasn't a glass rear-view mirror but which appeared to share in the purpose. Finally, she nodded her head in reluctant agreement, and he felt the car slowly decelerate. He followed Teyla out of the vehicle and stood away as Beckett moved into their side of the back seat. Carson took less than a minute to study Sheppard and then exited the car with a grim face.

"Alright, I need to stay on this side of him so that I can monitor that wound. Rodney, why don't you sit on the Colonel's other side? Come on now, before we get noticed."

"What is it?" Rodney asked, feeling helpless.

"Just get in the car, and I'll explain. Go on now, hurry."

After they had all re-entered the car, and Torca had continued their wild ride through the city, Beckett began his explanation.

"The ulceration itself is a severe auto-immune response, similar to the one on his right arm," he said bleakly. "His skin has a high percentage of cells expressing the Aratus proteins, and now immune cells are moving in to destroy them. At the science facility I was able to bandage up his arm, so the skin there is, as yet, uninfected. Unfortunately, the onset of the ulceration that is on his side must have happened in the hours between my first exam and our escape. It's filled with an infection that has in all likelihood spread to the dermis of his right side. The swelling and inflammation is liable to be quite painful and explain his reaction to being jostled around."

"What does that mean, Doctor?" Teyla asked. Despite his own desperate panic, Rodney was able to note that the usually tranquil Athosian also seemed somewhat taken back by events.

"Well, it's a pretty serious infection," Beckett said. "It's going to need lancing very soon, and I'm afraid that now I'm going to have to take a chance on a few of the Netharian medications. And the rapid onset of such extensive damage and the consequent infection is indicative of how occupied his immune system is with attacking the cells expressing the alien protein. We need to get back to Atlantis so that I can slow down this auto-immune response, but I have to treat this abscess first."

"So you're saying that he's not going to make it to the Stargate?" Ronon gruffly asked from his position in the car's front seat.

"I'm afraid not without some medical intervention," Beckett said. "Torca, is there some place safe where we can stop? Some place where we can spend just a couple of hours so that I can treat him?"

Torca seemed to consider the question carefully. From his new position behind the Netharian woman, Rodney could just make out her troubled expression from the reflective non-mirror. The woman's face bore a complex mixture of fear, guilt, and surprisingly, sadness, but as he watched, she cleared her expression and all that remained was a resolute regality.

"Yes, I think there is a place," she finally said.

Her news did little to settle the disquiet that Rodney felt. Fear had lodged itself in his throat, and he did not think that he would be speaking around its strangling grasp anytime soon. With uncharacteristic silence that was not missed by his teammates, he turned away from Sheppard's pale face. As he stared out the window with eyes that did not fully see the scenery outside, he realized that he would do almost anything to alleviate some of the man's pain. With a strong and sudden pang of emotion, he wished he was sagging with unconsciousness and breathing in too fast bursts instead of the strong Air Force Colonel who had befriended him.

He tried to make a sarcastic comment, but it died in his throat, crushed by the fear that had found a place there.

He tried to take some comfort from the fact that the man was breathing at all but wasn't entirely successful.

He closed his eyes and grasped his ailing friend's hand instead.

888

The out-of-place sound of crunching gravel thrust John back to consciousness with an involuntary lurch that sent waves of pain crashing through his side. Two strong arms responded by tightly gripping his knees and shoulders, and he pressed the right side of his face into fabric that carried a not unpleasant, pungent scent. He breathed through the pain for a moment before opening his eyes and finding himself staring at what had to be Ronon's chest. The rolling motion that assailed him was a telltale sign that the Satedan was carrying him and not in any manly way. Weakly turning his head so that he now faced a star-filled, nighttime sky, he realized that the ex-Runner was carrying him as one would a small child...or a medieval lady in distress.

"Ronon?" He gasped and just barely managed a harsh, questioning look. He noted that the oxygen mask had been removed and that a heavy weight in his chest made it difficult for him to catch his breath. He tried to ignore the constraining feeling and instead maintained his irritated glare.

"Hey, it's not my idea of a good time either. You're not exactly my type, you know." Ronon's dryly humorous yet appropriate response to Sheppard's unvocalized question was a tribute to how well the big man's personality meshed with the rest of the team's. "Beckett wants me to be careful when carrying you, and this seemed the best way."

"I can…walk," Sheppard wheezed out in a manner that he hoped conveyed sufficient indignation.

"Yeah, not going to happen," Rodney said from somewhere behind his head. The physicist's voice sounded broken and contained little of anything that Sheppard considered typical of the man's acerbic nature.

"I don't…where…are…we?" Sheppard asked. He squirmed around in Ronon's arms as he attempted to catch sight of anything familiar, but the sudden movement hurt him badly. He caught a dizzying image of a burned out building and heard Teyla say something about Torca before he again descended into unconsciousness.

888

The next time he woke, he was lying on his back in what had to be one of the dustiest and largest rooms he had ever seen. His team surrounded him, blocking his view, but he was able to make out the dull gleam of a once ornately decorated marble floor as well as tarnished columns that connected to a high, crystal ceiling. It looked like a ballroom to John, and though it carried an air of disuse, he could easily imagine the grandeur and elegance that had once spun and twirled upon its magnificent dance floor.

But now the floor was nothing more than a dusty, aged surface that was cold despite the blanket that had been placed between John's body and the cool marble. He shivered in response to the chilled air and realized, with alarm, that he was bare-chested.

He found himself staring up at Ronon as the man kneeled above him and pressed his upper body into the hard surface of the floor. Ronon looked unhappy but resolute, and Sheppard took some comfort from the big warrior's expression. Teyla and Rodney were harder to see since they were hunched near his feet. Each had a restraining grasp on one of his legs. He blinked slowly and tried to make sense out of what was happening. He turned to see Beckett beside him, holding a syringe. The doctor was saying something, but John could not understand any of his words.

He coughed as the ubiquitous dust entered his lungs, and he was too weak to fight against the mask that was suddenly forced onto his face. Beckett hovered over him, but he was now talking to a small woman. Carson seemed unhappy and almost angry with her. She bit her lip in an exquisite way and then said something incomprehensible.

He closed his eyes against the unfathomable scene but opened them when a gentle hand wiped away moisture from his face. The beautiful and tiny woman lingered over him and smiled sadly. He wanted to erase the sorrow that marred the beauty of her face, but Ronon's weight on his arms and chest kept him from moving. He settled on smiling reassuringly at her but couldn't know that the mask hid from her any sign of his encouragement.

His attention drifted back to Carson as the man spoke to him again, but he still could make no sense of what the doctor was trying to say to him. Clearly unsettled, Carson spoke to the others and then placed a hand against John's stomach. John lost sight of the syringe but felt it as it punctured his side.

He could not stop from screaming.

88888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888888

**A/N #2 Dare I say it? I think I will. **

**Mwa ha ha!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: This one's for Titan5. Here's hoping Murphy takes a hike!**

The Weight of an Oath – Part 11

The light that Torca was holding to illuminate the awful wound on John Sheppard's side wavered wildly as the man screamed. Dust particles spiraled through the light, and Torca closed her eyes as she tried to steady her hand. Doctor Beckett had not been happy about the dust; his voice had held irritation and desperation only moments ago when he had asked if there was anywhere else to go. But there was no place else to go. No place else where Torca or any of the others could go to do what had to be done.

Beckett had been forced to use a localized anesthetic to treat Sheppard since he had been worried that whatever other medicines that he carried or that she could offer would only further depress his oxygen intake. But as the Atlantean screamed and fought when the anesthetic was injected, Torca worried that the man would flounder further into shock.

She clutched the light, and thought about her father as Sheppard screamed beside her. Thoughts of her father had been so much with her these past few days and being in this place again after staying away for so long only brought his memory closer to her. The stirrings of a pain that she had thought long ago buried began to rise within her, and she closed her eyes tighter against it and wished it to leave her be.

Gradually, Sheppard's shouting lessened, and she was able to open her eyes again. Doctor Beckett was crouched very close to the Colonel's wound, working furiously to lance the abscess and clean the deeper tissues without causing further trauma. She turned away to look down upon the face of the wounded man and was startled to see that he was still conscious. Colonel Sheppard's eyes locked onto hers, and she was unable to turn from the pain she saw there. He muttered something, but the words were unintelligible since the oxygen mask muffled the sound. His breath hitched and then continued in a rapid rhythm of pain and weakness. She smiled kindly and then wiped his sweaty brow with the sleeve of her shirt. She thought she saw him smile uncertainly from beneath the mask, and then his eyes closed. She assumed that he had lapsed into unconsciousness, but she then saw that his hands remained clasped into tight fists and knew that he was still consciously struggling against pain.

She turned away from him to look at the others. Their distress was obvious. Even the stoic Ronon who still scared her despite the grudging truce that he had granted her, could not entirely conceal his concern. Doctor McKay would not even look at the proceedings and had bent his head down into the arms that tightly encircled Sheppard's left leg. The physicist's back shuddered when Sheppard suddenly moaned, and Torca wondered at the bizarre friendship that must have developed between the prickly McKay and less serious Sheppard. She knew very little about either of the two men but enough to understand that theirs was an unlikely camaraderie. Teyla's expressive face eventually drew her attention, and she was shocked to see the woman smile encouragingly at her. Torca felt a different kind of pain upon seeing the woman's sympathetic expression, because she could not help but feel that she did not deserve such consideration. She was, after all, partly to blame for the disheartening status of the Colonel's condition.

She turned away from the offer of compassion and instead focused her attention to the study of the room, recalling how beautiful it once had been. Thoughts of her father returned, and she remembered the last time she had seen him in this room. She had been no more than five years of age, and he had been handsome and strong and her entire world. She remembered that he had been dressed in his best suit, and that he had been the grandest in a room full of exceptionally grand guests. She recalled him laughing and happy and kissing her beautiful, not yet bitter mother on the cheek. But most of all, she remembered dancing with her father, and of how safe and satisfying it had felt to lightly step upon his well polished shoes, and how, with her feet upon his, he had effortlessly spun her across the beautifully polished floor.

The pain threatened again, and she coldly shoved it and all the memories away. They had not been such a nuisance for many, many years, and she could not afford to deliberate upon them right now despite the fact that they were in part the reason why she had initiated the Atlanteans' escape. She would not think upon the days when her father was alive, because if she did, the other memories would come, and she had spent her entire life setting aside the pain of those dark reminiscences.

Her efforts to draw her mind from the past were aided by the sound of Doctor Beckett's voice.

"It's finished," he said as a simple announcement to the others.

"Thank god," McKay muttered. He did not sit up but remained bent over Sheppard's left shoe. Despite the man's insulting nature and the irritation he caused her, Torca felt a pang of concern for him. She suddenly had the idea that the man kept as many emotions hidden from the outside world as she, herself tried to conceal.

"We must leave very soon," she told the doctor with a voice that sounded slow and dull to her own ears. "The safety of this place is limited."

"Aye, I understand that. But the Colonel is shocky, and I don't think it's wise to move him just yet. I would also like to treat him with that injectable oxygen that you told me about before we leave, and I think it's best to do that while I can constantly monitor his vital signs."

"How long?" Torca asked. She felt they had been here too long already but knew that what the doctor was saying held truth.

"Only a little while. Half an hour at most. I understand the need to leave, but you have to give us at least half an hour."

Torca bit her lip again and for reasons that were not clear to her, shared a questioning look with Teyla. The other woman nodded serenely, and Torca felt relief as the knot in her chest loosened a bit.

"I'll walk the perimeter," Ronon said, sensing that a reasonable decision had been made. "The rest of you should try to get some sleep," he added before he left.

Torca thought that the tall and threatening man's suggestion held merit, but knew that within the halls of this room, sleep would never come for her.

888

Sheppard opened his eyes to darkness that was faintly illuminated by unearthly moonlight. He looked about and recognized the room but very little else. He felt better but a long way from healthy and was relieved to find that he could draw in breaths that were, at the very least, satisfying.

"Your friends are resting," said a strange woman who was sitting beside him. Her quiet voice startled him, but he was too weak to move from the supine position in which he had woken. He drew in a stilted breath to call out, but the movement of her long fingers to his lips served to quiet him. "Let them sleep," she said kindly. "They are tired and do not have much time to rest. Leave them to their peace for a little while longer."

"Are they…okay?" he asked and noted that despite feeling better, his voice was still nothing more than a choked whisper.

"They are fine. Just concerned for you," she said. She drew her hand down to check his pulse and seemed satisfied with the result.

"Who are…you?" John asked. He tried to move again, but pain in his side blossomed and spread, so he lay back against the cold floor with a moan.

"Please, do not move," Torca advised and placed a commanding hand on his chest. He coughed against the weight of that pressure, and she immediately released him with a look of apology strong in her eyes.

"Who are you?" John repeated.

"I am Torca. You do not remember me?"

He didn't, at first. His mind was covered in a thick fog where memories of recent events could not be clearly seen. He tried to make sense of the limited information that his brain was offering, and then had a sudden recollection of Rodney's sharp, admonishing voice.

"Don't let McKay…get to you," John said with a laugh that transformed into a desperate gasp for air. He feebly waved off her concern and continued. "He's a pain in…the ass, but…ultimately harmless."

Her responding smile was only momentarily bright, and she turned away from him as if trying to conceal some emotion that he could not decipher.

"Why are you doing…this?" he asked her as events became clearer. He had suddenly remembered being told about the Oath and could not help but wonder why this slip of a girl would be willing to sacrifice everything she held dear for a stranger from another world.

"You remind me of someone," she blurted out, and he didn't know if her words were actually in response to his question. She momentarily focused her large, sad eyes on him before turning away again to stare at the fractured moonlight that streamed from the crystal ceiling. The light reflected off her face, and he saw that her cheeks were shining with tears.

"Who?" he asked, because she was upset, and he remembered enough to know that he owed her his life.

She seemed to hesitate, but it was only for an instant. She tried to hide her reluctance by wiping the tears from her face, but he knew better. At the moment, she was very vulnerable, and he couldn't help but wonder why.

"My father," she finally said, and a look of mortification spread across her face as she lost control of the strong emotion that she had tried to conceal from him. She drew her hands across her face in a final attempt to hide her grief, but her quiet sobs could not be contained.

Feeling a familiar, sympathetic ache of his own, he painfully stretched out his hand to gently stroke her hair. He only offered comfort for what he sensed was an enduring wound and the gift of a person interested enough to hear about her sorrow.

The house belonged to her family, but when her father had opposed the Oath, it had been burned to the ground with only the ballroom miraculously left intact. She had been too young to truly understand the issue at the time, but later, she had covertly sought out information about the proceedings. Those willing to talk about her father were few, and determining the reason for his treasonous behavior had been a dangerous task. But she had eventually discovered that her father had voiced doubts about the ethicality of the Oath. He had argued that the methods of protection were as important as the reasons for the protection. There had been more, but not one of the witnesses would say anything else to her. Even the limited information that she had garnered had been given to her grudgingly.

For his transgressions, the man had been ceremonially stripped of all his wealth and power, and his remaining family had been shunned as a disgrace to Netharia. His name had been erased from all records, and then he had been put to a slow, painful death as his wife and five year old daughter had looked on.

She would say nothing further, and John wondered at how she had managed to re-enter into the society that had once shunned her. He wanted to know why she would choose to provide for the world that had left her life in such shambles, but before he could even draw the breath to ask his questions, she had collected herself. Her closed and distanced expression was a strong indication to him that the discussion was over. She wiped her face again to erase the last vestiges of emotion before calmly taking his wrist and checking his pulse again.

He closed his eyes against the burden of her pain, and a heaviness that had nothing to do with his labored breathing settled into his chest. He did not imagine that its weight would allow him much peace anytime soon.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, but she either did not hear him or chose to ignore him. The result was the same.

She frowned and looked at him crossly. "Your pulse is too fast. I will get Doctor Beckett," she said and disappeared from his side.

John tried to steady himself in the minutes he had before Beckett came to look him over and then, more than likely, yell at him for his sorry state. He was saved from the Scotsman inevitable temper when Ronon came into the room before Beckett could be roused. The ex-Runner saw that John was conscious and then grunted with approval.

"You're awake," the Satedan said calmly.

"Apparently," John wheezed. Ronon seemed edgy, and John sensed that something was wrong.

"We have company," Ronon said, confirming John's deduction.

"Christ. Help me up," Sheppard said with a scowl.

888


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Events from my other SGA fic are again mentioned here, but I remain convinced that you'll be able to understand this chapter if you haven't read "Iron String" (the other fic). Thanks so much for all of the wonderful feedback! I love hearing that people actually like this fic!**

The Weight of an Oath – Part 12

"And what exactly do you plan to do? Wheeze at the big, nasty, bad guys?" The voice was McKay's, and it was oozing thickly with bitterness. "The oxygen deprivation must finally have ruined the remains of your brain cells if you think that you're in any condition to fight."

"McKay," John gasped the name out warningly.

But one look at Rodney's overwrought expression was all it took for John to understand that McKay was only giving voice to his frustration and worry at the situation. What was worse, John also knew that Rodney was right. He was in no condition to do much of anything except lie still and wheeze loudly, but he could not reconcile leaving the protection of his team up to anyone else but himself.

"Carson, I think you should assess his brain functioning. He must be hypoxic," Rodney said tightly. John recognized the tone as being one of cynical anxiety that could quickly escalate to an angry panic.

"Rodney, maybe you should settle down a bit," Carson advised.

"Just a few questions to assess him," Rodney insisted. "Like, what was your dog's name?"

John knew that the question was artfully designed to remind him of the last time his life had been in jeopardy, and he resented Rodney for asking it. He didn't need to be reminded of how difficult his recovery from the Aurora's effects had been, and he especially didn't need to focus on how hard Rodney had taken those events either. He hadn't asked to be brain-zapped then, and his opinion on being captured, experimented on and then fed to a Wraith certainly hadn't been considered this time around. If McKay was unhappy with the situation, then he still didn't know half of the unhappiness that John was feeling.

"Don't…be a…smart ass, McKay!" John said, attempting to inject a stronger warning into his tone.

"Not even close to being the right name," Rodney said without missing a beat. "Must be brain damage."

"MCKAY!" Now there was real anger coursing through John, and he let it show in his voice. Unfortunately it took up what little strength he had managed to conserve throughout this escapade, and he closed his eyes as he tried to regain his breath.

Thankfully, Rodney appeared to take the hint.

"Yes," he said, with artificial haughtiness. "Never mind. He sounds normal now. Irritating and ill-mannered wrapped in one big ball of bed-headed Kirkiness."

As John lay weakly gasping for breath, he realized that Rodney had initiated his normal, much reduced level of snarkiness only because his point had been made; John was far from capable of doing anything more than wheeze at the bad guys.

"I'll go take care of it," Ronon interrupted the bad-timed rant of both men. "Be quiet until I get back," he than added, with a pointed glare at McKay.

"I will accompany you," Teyla said as she frowned with disappointment at Rodney.

John watched the two of them wistfully as they left the room and then lay back and closed his eyes. He resisted an urge to sneeze as the dust that had been disturbed by his departing team-members whirled around him. He felt the warm touch of Carson's hand as it searched for the pulse in his wrist, and then he cringed as he felt Beckett lift his shirt to survey the wound on his side.

"It's all right for now," Carson said. John opened his eyes before the doctor could hide the look of worry on his face, and Carson looked embarrassed when he realized that he had been caught.

"How bad is it?" John asked, so Carson took a moment to explain to Sheppard what had caused the wound and to describe the extent of the injury. John was far from happy to learn of the progression of his illness, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of fear at the knowledge of how far his health had deteriorated in such a short amount of time.

"You're a bit better for travel now," Carson said as he carefully pulled John's shirt down. "The wound is bandaged, and you should be feeling a mite stronger from the iron sulfate and inflammatory medications that I've given you, as well from the injectable oxygen that Torca gave me to try on you."

"Huh?" John asked, both surprised and alarmed by this last tidbit of news. "What did you give me?"

"Don't worry, Colonel. It was desperate there for a while, so I was forced to try the alien drug, but you've suffered no ill effects. I just want to give you another injection of antibiotic, and then you'll be right as rain for a bit."

As Carson lifted the sleeve of John's shirt and injected the antibiotic, John considered his situation. He wasn't sure that he was comfortable with the doctor's need to use the Netharian medications, but he wasn't given a chance to voice his concerns. Having finished treating his patient and realizing that their time was dwindling fast, Carson turned away and called out to the Netharian woman before John could say another word.

"Torca, lass, can you help me organize the Netharian medications into those you believe are safe to use on the Colonel?" The words were barely spoken before both scientists were immersed in quickly accomplishing their task.

John felt a surge of sudden irritation but knew that Carson was acting as he should, given the circumstances. They needed to be prepared to make a hasty departure, and John was well aware that he wasn't in any condition to complain.

He closed his eyes in an effort to collect his strength and thoughts, but McKay's harsh whisper interrupted him.

"I'm sorry for…before," Rodney said quietly and awkwardly. "I'm just worried."

For some strange reason, Rodney's voice sounded disconnected and tinny. It took John a moment to understand that his friend was genuinely upset, and he felt a ridiculous grin spread across his face when the insight came.

"It's fine, Rodney," John responded, sincerely, and maybe a bit too loudly. "But I sort of resent…the whole Kirk label, especially since…last time I counted, you seem to be getting more play from aliens…of the female persuasion than…I am."

"Then you've lost count!" Rodney responded, glibly. "And I'm offended by the very insinuation that I've acted inappropriately towards any women, alien or otherwise. I'm a tower of propriety. A wall of courage and strength. I don't have time to woo women, because I save the day on a regular basis, and I..."

"…Talk way…too much," Sheppard interjected in a timely fashion. "And there's no…"Kirkiness" about…me!" he added good-naturedly.

"Ha! Now there's where you're wrong!" Rodney crowed, triumphantly. "You should have seen Torca making goo-goo eyes over you."

"Leave Torca alone," Sheppard snapped, feeling his good mood suddenly turn black. "She's just…a kid, and she's helping…us all out."

"Aye, why don't you both shut up for a bit," Carson suddenly said from behind them. Rodney visibly jumped at the unexpected interruption, and Sheppard recovered a bit of his previous cheerfulness for having seen the reaction. "You're cangling like two irate bletherbags, and it's giving me a headache."

The times when Carson would regress back to his roots to speak in his native, garbled tongue had become rare anymore, and John recognized the event as indicative of the stress the man was under. He supposed that if Carson was overly stressed, then John's own condition had something to do with it, but he couldn't bring himself to think too hard on it. Instead, feeling decidedly off-kilter, he laughed.

He laughed for a long while; long enough for tears to begin streaming down his face. He began to feel winded again, but still the bout continued for a protracted amount of time before he could bring himself under control.

When he opened his eyes, it was to the combined worried visages of his companions, but he felt too disjointed even now to care.

"Colonel, are you feeling all right then?"

Carson had asked the question, and his brogue had become so thick that John felt another, urgent need to laugh again. He successfully smothered the compulsion when he noticed that Teyla and Ronon had returned some time during his laughing fit. On a dissociated level, it concerned him that he hadn't been immediately aware of their return. He wondered about what was going on, and realized that he had better answer Beckett's question soon or else they were all going to throw him into the loony bin once they returned to Atlantis. But that was when he saw the twin expressions of fear on Rodney and Torca's faces, and the realization of how much the two aggravated each other combined with the contradiction of how similar their two personalities were forced another series of giggles from him.

"He's being too loud," Ronon hissed sharply.

Carson grasped John's face tightly, and light blinded him for a brief, panicky moment. He was now beginning to feel decidedly hazy but managed to gather enough wits about him to realize that he had just been assaulted by the doctor's penlight.

"Ah, Christ, I think he's having a reaction to the Netharian injection," Carson muttered. He placed a hand over John's wrist to check his pulse and simultaneously monitored Sheppard's breathing.

"I knew it!" Rodney said, harshly. "Voodoo! It's all just so much goddamn voodoo!"

"Be quiet, Rodney," Beckett answered back in a guilty whisper that made John smile wildly. "We had no choice. If it weren't for the Netharian medicine, he'd be dead by now. The portable oxygen is gone, and intubation under these circumstances is out of the question. His breathing is improved, and his color is better, so overall I still believe it was the correct decision. It's just that now he's a little, well…."

"High?" Rodney asked disgustedly.

"Well, yes, that's one way to describe it."

"Well, at least one of us is feeling happy about the situation," Rodney rumbled, and John couldn't help the laughing and pointing that followed next.

"We need to leave, now," Teyla said. "And we need to leave quietly if we wish to remain undetected. Do you think that Colonel Sheppard is capable of doing so?"

"Well we don't really have much of a choice, do we?" McKay asked, bitterly. "It's either knock out the local sheriff until he's discovered later, in which case we'll be followed, or leave now and hopefully get away without being noticed."

"We are still too far away from the second Stargate to risk being followed now," Torca insisted. "We must leave without doing him harm."

John wanted to argue that of course she wouldn't want them to touch a hair on any of the locals given her association with the Oath and all, but his tongue suddenly wouldn't cooperate. Despite an unexpected rush of sullen resentment he suddenly felt towards her and towards her continued loyalty to her immoral people, the fuzziness that had started to blur his edges wouldn't let him communicate his indignation.

He settled for huffing darkly and pushing Beckett's hands away. Rodney bent down in a stubborn move to help his friend, and John's tongue was suddenly free again.

"I don' need…any…help," he insisted, not realizing that his words were slurring. "'M fine. Can stay…quiet," he added. To reinforce his line of reasoning, he then put an index finger to his lips and made a loud shushing noise. But the attempt was half-successful in that he ended up spitting all over McKay's face, and then he couldn't stop the burst of giddy laughter that escaped him.

"Oh that's just disgusting!" McKay whispered caustically as he wiped spittle off of his face. "This is never going to work!"

"We have no choice," Ronon stated flatly. "Teyla and I have managed to trick the lawman into thinking there's something interesting in the Southern part of the forest, but if he has any brain, he won't be distracted long. We need to leave now. Teyla, you and the girl should go to the machine and meet the rest of us on the Northern edge of the woods. We'll follow with Sheppard. I'll take care of the lawman if he becomes a problem again, but regardless of how this goes down, you both should be prepared to leave as soon as you see us coming."

"Hey, who put you in charge?" John asked angrily. Ronon rolled his eyes and ignored the incapacitated Colonel in an act that caused some of John's current resentment for Torca to spread to the big Satedan.

"You'd better go now," Ronon said instead to Torca and Teyla. They both left without questioning Ronon's orders, and John felt a moment's shame. But his changeable mood allowed him to dismiss the incident quickly, and he ended up blinking heavily as he fought against another bout of hysterical laughter.

"You'd better take him, Doc. I'll watch your back, but you need to keep him quiet," Ronon instructed Carson.

At the sound of another series of muffled snickers from Sheppard, Rodney threw his hands up in desperation.

"We're doomed," McKay announced in a fatalistic whisper.

"Just help the Doc," Ronon insisted in a tone verging on anger. As the other two men struggled to lift the uncooperative weight that Sheppard presented, Ronon bent down to pick up some of the medical supplies that neither Beckett nor McKay would be able to carry. As he gathered the remaining provisions, Ronon had the idea that, for the first time, maybe McKay had correctly assessed a military situation.


	13. Chapter 13

The Weight of an Oath – Part 13 

Rodney had had no concept of how quickly things could disintegrate until the singing started.

Since Sheppard was far from capable of walking on his own, both McKay and Beckett had been forced to drag the man across the decimated mansion's long courtyard towards the surrounding trees where Teyla and Torca were hopefully waiting for them in the concealed car. The journey was an arduous one, made more trying by the fact that Sheppard simply would not shut up. Rodney had become so frustrated with the Colonel's refusal to be tactfully silent, that he was seriously considering doing physical harm to the already infirm man.

The talking and intermittent laughter had become so much of a problem that Ronon had been forced to circle back to the front of the burnt out mansion so that he could again distract the local police enforcer. Ronon's reluctant separation from the three of them was an act that had had Rodney fervently praying to gods that he didn't believe in but wished he could that the Satedan wouldn't be forced to resort to minor indiscretions of violence. They were sure to be caught if the native lawman was found unconscious due to suspicious circumstances.

Struggling with John's recalcitrant weight, Rodney had wondered how it had all gotten so bad. It had been pretty bad before Sheppard had tripped the light fantastic, but afterwards it had just gotten, well…VERY bad. Rodney hadn't been able to imagine how things could get much worse, hadn't; in fact, wanted to know.

Then fate, disguised as a United States Air Force Colonel, happily showed him just how much worse things could get.

The man began to sing.

"My Bonnie lies over the…ocean. My Bonnie…lies over the sea!"

It was breathless, off-key singing that reminded Rodney of the weird braying sound that the goat-like creature on P57-239 had made when it had charged him with the intent of butting him off a cliff. The ugly sound made Rodney cringe, and it set his teeth on edge.

"Please, Sheppard, I'm begging you. SHUT THE HELL UP!" Rodney screamed in a coarse whisper, feeling a last nerve begin to twitch wildly.

Sheppard paused in his singing only long enough to wobble his head upward to look drunkenly at McKay. By the light of the now fading moon, Rodney saw a rebellious glint flare up in the other man's glazed eyes.

"Bring BACK! Bring BACK! Bring back my Bonnie, to…ME! To…ME!"

Resisting the urge to tackle the man and knock him unconscious, Rodney instead glared violently at Beckett.

"How could oxygen do this to him?" he asked while trying desperately to smother Sheppard's singing with his hand.

"There's more in that injection than just oxygen, Rodney," Beckett quietly explained as he, too, attempted to silence the affected man. "In order to maintain oxygen in an injectable form, there's apt to be a pretty fancy injection medium mixed in with the gas. I wouldn't be surprised if he's reacting to something that the Netharians find innocuous."

"That's just ridiculous!" Rodney exclaimed.

It was then that Sheppard fought to move his face away from Rodney's hand in a clumsy effort to continue vocalizing the song that had apparently become something of a fascination for him. The awkward and sudden maneuver threw off the Colonel's equilibrium and caused him to turn a shade of green with which Rodney had had some familiarity in the very recent past.

Being unprepared for the shift in weight, Rodney unwillingly followed Sheppard's lead, and they both tumbled to the ground. Sheppard was retching before his face even touched the damp grass, and Carson reached down to turn the man's head into a position less conducive to aspirating on expelled stomach contents.

"It's all right, Colonel. It'll be over in a moment," soothed Carson as he supported Sheppard through the vile bout of sickness.

Endeavoring to escape being puked upon, Rodney scrambled backwards. He watched Beckett as he patiently cared for the weakening Colonel and felt a sudden rush of shame claim him. Sheppard couldn't help how he was acting, and yet only seconds ago Rodney had been close to knocking the man unconscious just to get him to quiet down. What kind of friend was he that he could have thoughts like that?

Feeling rueful, Rodney rushed back to Sheppard's side and did his best to help Beckett comfort the man. A short while later, the Colonel's vomiting ended, and he lay in the damp grass looking stricken and shaking with the reaction of being sick.

"Are you feeling better then, Colonel Sheppard?" Carson asked while discretely taking John's vital signs.

"Not really," Sheppard responded, and then laughed too loudly.

"You'd think a bout of puking would return him to some semblance of his normal self," Rodney remarked when his friend's laughter continued unabated. He noted the still distracted look in Sheppard's eyes and rolled his own eyes in disgust.

Beckett didn't give any indication that he had heard Rodney's words. Instead, he gave a resigned sigh as he stared down at the laughing Colonel. "Well, come on, Rodney. Help me haul him up."

Both men reclaimed their positions on either side of the Colonel and then dragged Sheppard upright. John stopped laughing when he again turned a slight shade of green with the movement. He looked distinctly uncomfortable until his complexion settled back to its now ever-present, bruised appearance. His good humor returned, and he again lifted his head to throw McKay an insubordinate look. McKay groaned and prepared his ears for the assault he knew would come next.

"My Bonnie lies over…the ocean," John began to sing once more, and both Carson and Rodney shared a despairing glance with one another.

Feeling his previous guilt evaporate, Rodney experienced a renewed urge to knock the man senseless. He was weighing his options when John lifted his head and forced a sad gaze on him. "You know," he said, "I really miss…Atlantis."

"Tell me about it," McKay responded, but then thought better of his words. "Never mind, don't tell me about it. Just shut the hell up."

Sheppard obliged by passing out again.

888

In the end, Ronon hadn't had to resort to knocking the lawman unconscious. Instead, the man had run off on his own accord when an irate member of the local wildlife emerged from the forest underbrush and charged him. The man had evaded the creature only by running faster than Ronon would have given him credit for and then scrambling up a nearby tree. The boar-like animal had given up shortly thereafter and, seemingly unphased, had contentedly trotted off back into the forest.

But the incident had apparently been enough to convince the lawman that no trespassers existed on the property, and he had quickly scuttled down the tree and had run back to his machine. With a disgusted snort that Ronon heard all the way from his hiding place at the edge of the forest, the lawman had then started his machine's engine to subsequently escape from the pig-infested land.

The machine had skidded dangerously on the gravel of the front driveway before righting itself and then tearing off into the night. A heavy cloud of dust had hung suspended in the air, momentarily keeping the vehicle from Ronon's view. But when it had turned onto the main road, Ronon had caught sight of the machine and had known from the speed at which the vehicle continued to travel that the lawman would no longer be a problem with which he need concern himself.

Remembering the almost comical look of panic on the lawman's face as he had scampered up the tree, Ronon felt the need to release some tension by laughing. Contrary to McKay's postulates, the newest member of Sheppard's team could appreciate the humor of a situation. He simply did not feel the need to express his appreciation to the extent that the others did.

But now, walking towards the rendezvous point and relishing the memory of a grown man scared silly by a pig, he allowed himself the indulgence of a private laugh. In fact, his smile lingered until he heard the singing.

His smile instantly converting to an angry scowl, Ronon moved swiftly through the forest that bordered the extended yard but did not catch up to the others until the singing had ended. Despite the grudging respect he felt for the distance that the other three men had traveled in the short time since he had separated himself from them, he remained irritated.

He burst through the forest to find Beckett and McKay struggling with Sheppard's slack body.

"I thought I told you to keep him quiet!" Ronon said fiercely.

McKay yelped at the Satedan's sudden appearance but recovered quickly enough to turn his own annoyance onto his newly arrived teammate.

"Well, he wasn't being very cooperative about it," Rodney said, scathingly. "What did you want us to do, knock him unconscious?"

"Yes, if that's what it took."

His unequivocal response seemed to irritate McKay even further, and Ronon had to suppress the urge to laugh at the man.

"I should have just done it," Rodney muttered to himself before indicating Sheppard's now unconscious state. "Well, anyway, the goat-calling has finally ended of its own accord. Help us with him."

Ronon stooped down and lifted Sheppard up into his arms to again hold him against his chest in the way that he knew would protect the man's injuries. He started walking swiftly through the yard, and the other two men struggled to keep up with his fast pace.

"What about the Netharian man?" Carson suddenly asked breathing heavily from the speed he was forced to maintain.

"He's gone. Took off after a pig ran after him."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Rodney asked. He muttered something about goats and the improbabilities of friendly farm animals, but Ronon was too busy searching for Teyla and the Netharian woman to take much notice.

888

They sped across the countryside far faster than Torca had anticipated. At first she was surprised that there had been no true search parties seeking them out via roadblocks or flying helios. But after considering the situation, she supposed that the search had probably remained restricted to the city. The city was large, making any search of it a time-consuming undertaking. It was also quite possible that the Administration thought that the escapees would keep to the city in order to use the convenience of its Stargate to return home. And though the Administration undoubtedly knew by now that Torca had associated herself with the Atlanteans, it was very possible that they had underestimated her resourcefulness and her willingness to leave the city.

So, after considering their predicament for a while, she decided that it wasn't so surprising that the only search parties they had seen were those of the unorganized local law managers like the one they had encountered at her father's estate.

But despite their current good luck, Torca had no illusions that they had much more time before the upper echelon of Administrators came to the conclusion that she and the Atlanteans had left the city. They needed to quickly reach the Hollows where the second Stargate stood if Colonel Sheppard had any hope of survival.

She caught a glimpse of the sick man in the reflective surface of the driver's mirror and knew that this hectic ride through the countryside truly was a fight for the man's survival. Sheppard appeared drained of all life as he leaned heavily against Doctor McKay's shoulder, and his breathing had reverted back to the wheezing it had been before Doctor Beckett had given him the injectable oxygen. She noted the blue tinge around his mouth and wondered if his poor respiration necessitated the dangers of another injection of the oxygen.

After the unexpected side effects of the first injection, both she and Doctor Beckett had agreed that avoiding further use of the Netharian medications was probably wise. But after having caught a glimpse of the ailing man's current condition and knowing just how much further they would have to travel, Torca realized that they would have to risk yet another injection of the oxygen.

Recalling again the behavioral effects that Sheppard had demonstrated after receiving the first injection lead Torca to curse silently to herself. Travel through the Hollows would have to be on foot, which was a prospect that would be difficult even if they didn't have to deal with Sheppard's troublesome lack of judgment. The thought of the man under the negative influence of the Netharian drug while wandering through the Hollows made her mentally recoil.

She hoped that Colonel Sheppard would remain unconscious, because it simply provided them all with the best-case scenario for completing the difficult task that lay ahead of them.

She felt a bit guilty for not having completely explained the difficulties of seeking out the Stargate within the Hollows, but the urgency of their escape coupled with the intractable nature of Doctor McKay had forced her to keep some of her expectations to herself.

Now, having driven for a full day's time and nearing the end of the easiest leg of their journey, Torca was beginning to feel edgy at the thought of how the others would take the news of traveling the rest of the way on foot.

The sun reflected brightly off of the surface of a single car that was traveling in the opposite direction. She admitted relief to herself that the way seemed to be sparsely trafficked. The countryside had long ago become a place to avoid, since most people preferred the city and the luxuries it afforded. She, herself had not been in the country since her father had been killed, and even when he had been alive, he had been considered eccentric for keeping a home so far away from the city.

She vaguely remembered her father telling her stories of a second Ring down in the Hollows, but she had not really thought much about it until undertaking the investigation into her father's death. The subject of the second Stargate had been one that had come up accidentally in conversation with an aged friend of her family. The woman had been more than happy to ramble on about the second Stargate's location as well as about several other tedious subjects. Torca had believed the woman's stories to be nothing but the ramblings of a senile old woman, but after doing further research, she had discovered that the information that the dotty friend had given her held merit. She had even planned a trip to seek out the second Ring, but school and work had impeded her plans.

She had often wondered why the second Ring no longer was used before coming to the conclusion that its lack of operation was due to nothing less than laziness on the part of her indulgent people. Why travel through the barren countryside when everything that was needed could be found within the lavishness of the city?

She turned off the main road, and knew that she had only moments before she would have to disclose to the others the bad news that the truly arduous part of their journey was about to begin. She frowned when she attempted to predict the reaction her companions would have to her news. In particular the thought of Doctor McKay's reaction left her feeling hesitant and annoyed.

McKay had been nothing but an ill-tempered and rude traveling companion from the start, and this made him something of an aggravating curiosity to her. Why would Colonel Sheppard trust such a pompous, self-indulgent lout to be an important part of his team?

She had yet to puzzle it out, and so this irritation of a man had remained something of an enigma to her.

However, she had no trouble determining that McKay would be far from happy with the information she was about to impart to him and his team. The trepidation she felt at the anticipated argument with Doctor McKay lead her to wonder if Ronon would kill her where she stood when he heard the news. She hoped that Teyla would see reason and attempt to intercede on her behalf, or at least that Doctor Beckett would attempt to heal any wounds the other three imparted to her.

They reached the opening to the trail that lead down to the Hollows, and she slowed the forward progression of the vehicle. Her conscious passengers stirred from their individual thoughts and began to look at their surroundings. She knew that they would see nothing but emerald grassland and sloping hills for miles around. They were in a remote place where only a trail and a road overgrown with virile plant life showed sign of any previous Netharian presence.

They were now beyond the realm of true Netharian civilization.

She looked in the mirror and saw realization begin to encroach upon Doctor McKay's expression. After a moment of brief orientation, he turned to glare at her reflection in the mirror.

She defiantly returned his look and then exited the vehicle. She stood outside for a moment to gather up her resolve before bending down to open the back door. McKay staggered out of the back seat and shot an accusing look at her.

"What in the hell is this!" he exclaimed.

888


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: First, I'm so sorry that this has taken so long to update. This chapter was just very difficult to write (and I'm not even sure why!). I had most of it settled well before posting Chapter 13, but the small details were driving me nuts! But after all of the wrangling, I think that I've kept the momentum within the average range, and that this chapter has maintained its cohesiveness.**

**Also, I've never thought Torca to be a 'Mary-Sue,' but the subject of 'Mary-Sue's' has been showing up lately, and someone turned me on to a test that you can take to determine whether or not an original character actually is a 'Mary-Sue.' I had Torca take the test, and I am happy to say that she passed it with flying colors! So, just in case there was a little inkling of thought in any of your heads that this chick is a 'Mary-Sue,' well, I hope I've dispelled it.**

**Alright, enough! I hope you all enjoy this chapter!**

**Emrys**

The Weight of an Oath - Part 14

Rodney's disposition had not improved during the time it took them to walk down the gentle hill that lead to the entrance of the Hollows. Beckett couldn't really blame the man since he, himself, held reservations about undertaking a journey that apparently was to be on foot. Torca's resolute refusal to explain anything more, and the short tumble he had experienced halfway down the hill had also made it difficult for Carson to take any sort of action against Rodney's incensed behavior.

Being careful to keep his voice low, McKay had nevertheless made his displeasure well known and had continued to do so all the way down the hill. He glared balefully at Torca's doggedly postured back and growled out a stream of words that had not stopped even while he had helped Carson back up to his feet after the fall.

Beckett was actually pretty impressed by the man's unlikely control over the volume of his tirade until he saw Teyla placing a calming hand on Rodney's arm every time the timbre of his voice became too loud.

Now, peering into the dark entrance of the Hollows which turned out to be a series of caverns through which they were supposedly going to travel, Torca finally turned to face her aggressor. Beckett watched both Torca and Rodney with intent interest, but at the same time, he stood close to Sheppard who was lying where Ronon had placed him gently on a shady spot of ground.

Unbelievably, both scientists stared antagonistically yet quietly at each other for a time, and Beckett found himself losing patience. They needed to get over this glitch in their shared venture and get on with things. Fatigue and a nagging ache in his left knee that had begun bothering him soon after his fall incited him to begin the conversation.

"Torca, lass, why didn't you tell us that we would have to travel on foot for some time?" he asked, pushing down his own frustration at the situation. He ignored Rodney's affronted look by maintaining complete attention to Torca's uneasy expression. He knew that the physicist would want to take the lead in this matter, but Beckett needed fast answers if he had any hope of getting Sheppard back to Atlantis alive. Rodney's adversarial techniques, albeit effective in their own way on Atlantis, would not serve to make Torca more inclined to explain things.

Torca was practically bristling with some emotion that Beckett found hard to decipher. Her mouth opened and closed briefly before she seemed to be able to control herself well enough to respond.

"He," she said with a scathing glare and a contemptuous gesture towards McKay, "is difficult."

Taken aback by what he now could ascertain was heavy anger from the Netharian woman, Carson didn't know what to say in response. He turned to the others and was surprised to see Ronon huffing in agreement and Teyla unsuccessfully attempting to hide a knowing smile. Rodney appeared to have been struck speechless by Torca's audacity and seeing the incredulous look on McKay's face made Carson smile a bit as well.

"I could not have persuaded Doctor McKay that to attempt to operate the city Stargate was suicide," Torca continued to explain.

"That is beside the point," Rodney had managed to find his voice, and his words were angry and resentful.

"It is exactly the point!" Torca responded instantly. "I had little time to orchestrate your escape, and far from enough skill in these matters to strategize a way past the Citizen's Guard that has been surrounding the Stargate since your arrival to this world. Since I knew that this area would be secluded, and I am well aware of my people's propensity for avoiding the countryside, coming here to search for a less guarded Stargate seemed to be the most feasible course of action to take. And I am confident that there is another Stargate within these caverns, and that we will be able to find it."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa," McKay said as he edged his way closer to Torca in a predatorial way that caused Beckett some small amount of alarm. "Confident? _Confident_! You mean you don't KNOW where it is!"

"Well, not exactly, no," Torca admitted as she slowly backed away from the approaching man. "I have only heard stories from my father and from people who knew him. But the stories are reliable, and I know that we will find a Stargate within these caverns."

Rodney had stopped moving forward and seemed only able to gape and utter short bursts of half-words. Afraid that the man would give himself a heart attack, Beckett stood up as Rodney's face reddened with apoplexy.

Ronon got to the physicist first and in an uncharacteristic motion of sympathetic understanding, placed a solid hand on Rodney's shoulder.

"I'll scout it out," he said, matter-of-factly. "We have no choice now," the Satedan added just for Rodney's ears, but Beckett was close enough to hear the words all the same.

Ronon cautiously entered the cavern, and Rodney began pacing the grassy area in front of the entrance. Beckett saw McKay share an anxious look with Teyla before the man took up his unhappy muttering again.

Carson sighed heavily and thankfully sat on the ground next to Colonel Sheppard's supine form. He monitored the unconscious man's respiration and pulse again and was even unhappier with the results this time around. Fumbling through their pack of meager supplies, Carson pulled out one of the Netharian syringes of oxygen. He had just begun preparing the Colonel for the injection when both Rodney and Torca yelled out simultaneously.

"Not again!"

"You must not!"

Startled, Carson pulled the syringe away from the Colonel and glared at both scientists.

"What is the problem now?" he asked, staring at his two companions with irritation.

"He's going to start that caterwauling again," Rodney whined. "I don't think I'll be able to handle it."

"He must be quiet," Torca said, eyeing Rodney with contempt. "Although secluded and not well known, it is possible that the area surrounding the Stargate will be guarded."

"You don't even know for sure that there is a Stargate here!" Rodney exclaimed.

"That is beside the point," Torca said scornfully. "Administration may well know of the stories about this Stargate, and it is possible that they will have determined our goal. We must be quiet and careful, and as we have seen, administering the oxygen to Colonel Sheppard will not allow for either condition."

"We have no choice," Beckett said and with his free hand indicated the blue tinge around the reclining Colonel's mouth. "He won't make it far without respiratory support, and the injection is all that we have left."

Worry flitted across both Rodney and Torca's features, and they shared a look that was, for once, somewhat lacking in disdain. Rodney brushed a hand through his already rumpled hair and sat heavily beside Sheppard. Beckett saw Torca's eyes soften before she turned away from the scene.

"Then we will have to keep him quiet some other way," the Netharian murmured as she turned to stare with unreadable eyes up the deserted hillside.

888

John opened his eyes when he was gently lowered to a patch of cool, shaded grass that thickly covered the edge of a dirt path. Weakness swiftly forced his eyes closed again, but while consciousness briefly lingered he was aware enough to know that Rodney was vehemently arguing with someone. Sheppard wanted to enjoy what seemed to be winding up to an all out rant, when awareness was stolen from him yet again.

His next memory was an impossibility, because standing before him, weaving drunkenly on his feet, was his oldest friend, Memphis Bledsoe. Memphis absently fingered the guitar he was holding, and for no reason whatsoever, John suddenly remembered that although he had been born in Tennessee, the man had never actually seen the city for which he had been named.

"You oughtn't sing when you're on a drunk, John," Memphis said seriously. The man's Southern drawl had become pronounced after the first shot of bourbon, forcing John to take a moment to allow his own disoriented brain time to translate the man's words. Once he realized that Memphis was insinuating that he had a poor singing voice, John felt angry. But after he saw his friend duck his head in a motion that was meant to hide his self-consciousness, John remembered that Bledsoe was a truly considerate man who would be feeling poorly for being too honest. His anger was tempered a bit with that insight, but not enough to agree with Memphis' assessment.

"I sing just fine," John slurred in return. He still felt slighted despite the fact that he knew that Memphis always looked out for his best interests. "Perfect...pitch."

"It's true," Memphis allowed. "You do sing a sweet song when you're sober. But not when you're tanked. Man, it only takes one beer before your perfect pitch gets itself not so perfect. Do us all a favor and don't waste your breath on that drunken caterwauling that surely is not singing."

"Sing...just fine," John insisted and felt another flash of indignation before his world shifted and cleared.

He blinked his eyes to find that in Memphis' place, Beckett now stood over him. He felt a pang of loss as he realized that the conversation with Memphis had been nothing more than the hallucination of a real memory. Memphis had been killed a week after that particular conversation had taken place, and the guitar that his friend had fingered with such familiarity now made itself at home in John's Atlantis quarters.

Thoughts of Atlantis allowed him to dispel the sad memory of his lost friend, and he drew his attention back to Beckett. The doctor seemed to be talking adamantly about something, and with marked effort, John focused his failing resources towards listening in.

"...Need to be quiet, Colonel. We don't know if anyone is actually in the caverns, but we can't take the chance of being found. Do you understand?"

"What?" John asked stupidly.

"Just give him the damn shot, Carson! He's obviously so out of it that nothing's getting through that dense skull of his."

"Shut up...McKay," John gasped in a response that had become reflexive and indicative of their ongoing SNAFU-filled relationship.

"Aye! Then you're with us again, Colonel!" Carson exclaimed.

"S'pose so," John said, but when he felt his eyes sliding shut, he wondered if he was only experiencing delirium again.

Carson seemed to understand John's plight, because he lightly slapped John's face. It was an action that grabbed Sheppard's attention and made him swear softly.

"Colonel," Carson said. "You need another shot of the oxygen, but it had an adverse effect on you before. I wish the injection wasn't necessary, but you won't make it to the 'gate without it."

"Almost there?" John hardly dared to hope that this nightmare would be over soon.

"No, Colonel," that was Rodney's voice, but John could barely bobble his head around to stare up at the physicist. When he managed the task, he felt vague amusement to see that Rodney was clearly cheesed off.

"Things not going...according to your...plan, McKay?" John asked as a weak smile involuntarily spread across his face.

"Oh fine. Be all amused and full of 'I told you so's!'" Rodney exclaimed, sneering with poorly concealed displeasure. "But that kind of attitude isn't going to help the situation at all!"

John vaguely remembered having an argument with Rodney about some Master Plan and felt it appropriate to snort in response. But any pleasure he might have garnered from seeing the physicist torqued up was lost when he found himself gasping desperately for breath afterwards.

"Rodney, stop this. I need him to understand what's happening!" Beckett scolded McKay. John sorted his breathing out and then turned his attention back to Carson.

"The thing of it is, Colonel," Beckett said, uneasily. "We need you to try to keep from, well, singing when we give you the injection. Actually, we need you to try to keep completely quiet until we make it to the Stargate. Do you think you could do that?"

John's vision wavered momentarily, and he remembered the similar conversation he had just re-lived in his delirious state. He did not enjoy the irony of the situation, but he could appreciate its seriousness.

"Do my best," he gasped, and Beckett nodded with wary satisfaction. Rodney just looked even more aggravated.

John didn't remember anything too clearly after that except for the small, stinging pinch that he felt in the crook of his arm shortly thereafter.

888

As John's gaze drifted and his eyes slowly slid closed, Rodney felt defeat press down hard on him.

"This is never going to work," he said to Beckett, heatedly. "He's never going to be able to keep his mouth shut."

"You should give the Colonel a little credit, Rodney," Beckett said, and brushed dirt off the knees of his pants in what was a useless attempt to tidy up. "He didn't know what was happening to him the last time. Hopefully it will be easier for him to understand that he needs to remain quiet now that he knows that the injection has a...peculiar effect."

Carson noted that Rodney didn't seem convinced, but he ignored the irate man. Standing up, he again tried to brush off some of the grime that covered him but failed miserably.

He was a mess. Between the layer of dust that had covered him ever since the mansion and the grass stains that he had incurred after falling down the hillside leading to the Hollows, he doubted that his uniform would ever be clean again.

Remembering the dust caused him to cringe in reaction to the certainty that Sheppard would soon develop an infection that would be worse than the one he had originally contracted. Tending to the wound on the man's side in an environment that had been so unsanitary had been a necessary, but risky decision that had bought them all only a short amount of time.

Carson bent down to check for fever in Sheppard, but happily found none. The longer the man went without the complications of the infection, the better off he would be. Even in Atlantis, the contradicting ailments that the man was suffering from would be difficult to treat. Beckett needed to depress the Colonel's immune system in order to buy time to find a cure for the disease that had inadvertently been caused by the injection of the modified Hoffan serum. At the same time; however, depressing the man's immune system could prove fatal if he was suffering from infection.

Despite the difficulties and if given a choice; however, Carson would certainly prefer dealing with the tricky nature of Sheppard's treatment in the controlled environment of Atlantis' infirmary.

Torca had continued to watch the hillside uneasily during the conversation with the Colonel, but now Beckett noticed her turn her attention back to the three of them.

"We should leave soon," she said and nervously glanced into the dark cave in which Ronon had entered only moments prior. "When do you think he will return?"

"He must have time to perform this reconnaissance," Teyla responded, reasonably. The Athosian woman had been standing near the mouth of the cave for some time, giving the impression of relaxed confidence. But she had been studying the immediate area with keen focus, and Carson knew that Teyla was prepared to protect them all if the situation called for it. "It would be unwise to bring Colonel Sheppard into the caverns without having some knowledge of the terrain," Teyla added.

"He is taking too long," the Netharian woman said with an unhappy shake to her head. "We could be seen here."

"We're just fine," snapped Rodney. "Oh, and I still blame you for all of this," he then added, almost as if he couldn't help himself. "I don't understand how you could think that it wouldn't be important for us to know that you have no clue about what you're doing!"

"And I suppose you know exactly what you're doing, Doctor McKay!"

"I always know exactly what I'm doing!"

"Certainly, I can see that!"

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

"It means that if you knew exactly what you were doing, you and the rest of your team would not be in such a desperate state of affairs, and maybe Colonel Sheppard would not be dying before our eyes!"

Rodney opened his mouth as if to reply, but then abruptly closed it. A stab of guilt crossed over his features, and the fight seemed to leave him suddenly.

"Maybe you're right," he conceded and then, with a deflated air about him, returned to Sheppard's side.

The fire that had been so strongly residing in Torca's eyes rapidly vanished, and she shared a stricken look with Carson. Beckett suddenly realized that the Netharian woman had no awareness of Rodney's depth of feeling, and that it was only now, after the failed interchange that she understood the mistake in judgment she had made in regards to the man.

"Doctor McKay, I'm..."

But Torca's apology was cut short by Ronon's sudden appearance.

"Let's go," the Satedan announced brusquely.

Carson saw Torca bite her lip in consternation when Rodney turned away from her to help support Sheppard's fragile weight.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: I'm not even going to tell you I'm sorry, because I'm too ashamed at how long it's taken me to update to do so (I just don't feel as if I deserve your forgiveness). I will give you the following words as a hint to why it's taken me so long:**

**OLD COMPUTER CRASHING…AND CRASHING…AND CRASHING.**

**NEW COMPUTER ON BACKORDER…WEEK AFTER WEEK (I swear, it's amazing that I have any hair left).**

**PROBLEMS CONNECTING TO THE INTERNET ON NEW COMPUTER…WEEK AFTER WEEK (It just got all straightened out today!).**

**And, well, it had been so long since I had access to the fic (when MS Word goes kablooie, you know you have trouble), that I had to re-read the whole fic and then just find the path of the story again. **

**I think I got it back, so here it is. I'm working on an original story while I'm working on this, so updates might not be posted on a regular basis. But I have the remainder of the fic locked into my head, and it will be finished (AHHHH, the joys of a new computer with Internet access…I will never take it for granted again!).**

**Hope you all like it and aren't too annoyed by the time between updates.**

**Thanks!**

**Emrys**

**The Weight of an Oath – Part 15**

"It's freakin' dark in here," Rodney complained, apparently having forgotten his previous dejection. "How the hell are we supposed to see where we're going?"

A light turned on suddenly to illuminate Torca's irritated face.

"Oh," Rodney said, feebly and shifted Sheppard's right arm into a better position on his shoulder. "I guess that'll do."

Torca just looked disgusted and then turned the light towards the front of the cave.

"There's a pathway here. It goes pretty far back," Ronon said. Rodney could barely make out the big Satedan's form in the gentle glow of Torca's light.

"Is there any indication that a Stargate is present somewhere in these caverns?" Teyla asked. Her voice sounded reasonable, but there was an edge to it that made Rodney feel uncomfortable.

"Nothing," Ronon said unhappily.

"Oh, that's just great!" Rodney couldn't help his outburst. "We could be stumbling around in here for hours, maybe even days, and we still aren't certain that there's a Stargate anywhere around."

"I am certain that the stories of a Stargate being present within the Hollows are true," Torca said, insistently.

"And as I intimated before, your guesses just lend me oodles of confidence," Rodney responded, dryly.

"Well it doesn't seem like we have much of a choice now, do we?" Beckett asked from his position on the other side of Sheppard. He shifted under John's left arm which caused Sheppard to mutter incoherently.

"Oh God, let's not get him started," Rodney said, unnerved.

"Listen, Rodney, I'm sure that none of us are particularly happy about the circumstances, but it seems to me that if there's a path it must lead somewhere," Beckett ignored Rodney when he opened his mouth to counter-argue and instead continued his attempt to reason with the others. "Besides, there's not much we can do either way. I'm obviously no expert in these matters, but I know that even if we were able to make it back to the city Stargate, Colonel Sheppard would never survive the trip."

"Well thanks for that good news, Carson!" Rodney exclaimed, feeling an increasing anxiety. "Do you feel better now? Because I know I do," he then said cynically to Teyla.

"Rodney, you are not helping matters," Teyla replied, chastising.

"Sorry. Certain doom, certain way, remember?" Rodney explained, not unkindly to Teyla. He shared an uncharacteristic smile with the Athosian, and she nodded placating.

"I'll tell you one thing, though," Rodney muttered into the shaky quiet that followed. "I'm never trusting aliens again. No matter how bamboozled they are by Sheppard's good looks!"

"How dare you!" Torca's verbal response was immediate and was quickly followed by a well-placed kick to McKay's right shin that had him stumbling backwards.

During the slight scuffle, Rodney lost his grip on Sheppard, and the man's arm slid loose. Carson yelled something incoherent as the light moved about wildly and intermittently blinded each member of the team.

A bulky figure inserted itself between the four individuals involved to some level or another in the argument, and the light suddenly steadied.

"Quiet! All of you!" Ronon said in a voice that was quiet yet somehow communicated the command effectively. "If you all don't stop arguing like dogs you're going to bring on the attention of anyone else who might be wandering around in here. There's a clear path, let's follow it. Like the doctor said, we have no other choice."

The words had an immediate effect in that both Rodney and Torca appeared to be suitably embarrassed. Torca graciously extended a slight hand as a peace offering to Rodney and, albeit reluctantly, Rodney grabbed it and allowed himself to be pulled up.

"I apologize," he said in a tight, overly civilized voice. "I'm a little stressed right now. Surely you understand."

Torca held his gaze levelly and smoothed her now disheveled hair into place.

"I also apologize, Doctor McKay," she answered in a voice that mimicked McKay's in tone. "On occasion I am known to over-react. It is a trait that I learned from my father, and one which I struggle with when I find myself in—certain—circumstances." She paused for a moment and then appeared to study Sheppard before looking to Carson. "I apologize to you as well, Doctor Beckett. I had no intention of causing you or Colonel Sheppard harm. My temper was tested, and I reacted inappropriately."

The look she threw at McKay negated her earlier apology to him, but since there was no verbal aspect to it, Rodney had to take a moment to interpret the insult. When he finally understood what had just occurred, he opened his mouth to retort only to have Carson interrupt him.

"Aye, lass. Don't worry. I completely understand," Carson said meaningfully. He smiled briefly and encouragingly before gently motioning to Torca to follow Ronon down the pathway.

Very aware that nothing had really been resolved, McKay simply stood where he was and shook out his aggrieved leg. He was a bit dumbstruck as he watched Torca calmly take the light from Ronon. Teyla clicked on a second Netharian flashlight that Torca had handed her and then brushed by Rodney to take up the rear. The physicist couldn't miss the unmistakable reproach that had returned to her gaze, and he guiltily ducked his head. Still stymied by the argument he had apparently lost to the Netharian woman, Rodney stood quietly for a moment and found that he was only able to stumble towards Beckett and Sheppard when he heard Carson make a sound of exertion.

"Rodney, could you take your mind off of your problems for a moment and help me with the Colonel here? He's getting heavy." Carson's brogue was heavy, and his tone was distressed. Rodney felt the heat of guilt rise to his face.

He complied with Carson's request but couldn't help but grumble as he took half of Sheppard's weight.

"She probably drew blood," he complained, leaning heavily on his unharmed leg.

"Rodney, there's nothing the matter with your leg. She's just a wee mite of a lass, and I doubt that you'll even see any bruising. She just startled you is all."

Rodney made a disgruntled noise but began following the light that indicated Torca's presence in the darkness.

888

The pathway through the Hollows led them steadily deeper into the ground, and the chill of the air became evident as their breath began to condense around them. After an hour of walking, they still had not seen signs of Netharian guards or of a Stargate, and although the bit about the guards was welcome, the fact that they had no evidence of a 'gate was cause for worry.

Despite the weak illumination of the Netharian flashlights, the darkness and uneven ground beneath their feet made the walk arduous. Before long, Carson and Rodney were huffing beneath the Colonel's limp weight as their exhalations bloomed in the cold air.

Carson had them stop when Sheppard began struggling towards consciousness, because the Colonel seemed confused and had begun to fight the supportive hold that the two scientists had on him. Gazing uneasily at the stricken man, the group huddled together in the cold and hoped that Sheppard would quickly orient himself. But as the Colonel's struggles became more persistent and as he started to become increasingly vocal, Rodney shot Carson an accusing stare. An entire conversation regarding the intelligence of shooting John up with the Netharian drug then silently passed between the two men in pointed glares and aggravated scowls.

Ronon's own scowl spoke volumes as he stood up and scanned the darkness ahead of them.

"How long is this going to take?" the Satedan asked, clearly expecting that Sheppard's muffled outbursts would attract unwanted attention.

"I'm not sure," Carson admitted, as he placed a hand on Sheppard's chest in an effort to calm him down. "It could take a bit. He's weakening fast now, and I don't want to risk a sedative. It's either wait for him to become more cognizant so that he doesn't hurt himself or draw attention, or wait until he becomes unconscious again."

Ronon's scowl deepened, and Carson knew that he would have to take some control over the situation or the impatient warrior would hoist Sheppard over his shoulder and continue on. Carson just didn't think that Sheppard's body could handle such a rough level of physical motion since he was already so near to falling into shock and since they still had an unknown distance yet to travel. It was Beckett's responsibility to look after his patient, and so, staring resolutely into the face of the man who was practically two times his size, he did just that.

"Go scout ahead, or do whatever it is you usually do, Ronon," he said with forced nonchalance. "Give me a moment to take care of him and look over his wounds. By the time you get back, I'll have him settled."

He was lying, because he had absolutely no idea how long it would take him to get the Colonel calmed down. Ronon seemed to see through the false statement and actually stooped down in a gesture that confirmed Carson's suspicions that the Satedan would have no desire to wait around when lifting and carrying his commanding officer was an option. A surge of protectiveness for his patient caused Carson to tighten his grip on the now thrashing Sheppard. Despite the distracting pulse his blood made as it angrily pounded through his head, Carson forced a more genuine expression onto his face.

"Ronon, if we move him while he's so agitated, he'll go into shock and die. I need some time."

He didn't like the way Rodney's face fell at his statement, or how Teyla moved closer to her commanding officer's side as Torca gasped. But he saw that the truth had a definite effect on Ronon's reaching posture, and as the Satedan slumped a bit in acceptance, Carson cursed his bluntness. But there was nothing else he could have done. Ronon was a trained warrior, and until recently, a runner. His motives were honorable, and his overriding goal was to get them all back home and to safety. He had just needed to be reminded that getting home safely couldn't always mean blindly pressing ahead and hammering through any obstacle that was in the way.

"I'll scout ahead," Ronon said. He took the light away from Torca and threw a questioning glance in Teyla's direction. She bowed her head, and Carson knew that the Athosian woman had just agreed to watch over their little group. He returned his attention to his patient again, when Sheppard shouted almost too loudly. He looked up in alarm to see if Ronon had noticed, but the man had already gone on ahead, his position marked only by the faint, illuminating light.

888

The Wraith had him. Oh, God. The Wraith had him, and he was too weak to fight the nightmares that had become integral parts of his reality. The noise of their garbled voices was muffled, and the air was almost too thick to breathe, and he just could _not _fight. He wanted to spit in their white-blue faces, but his mouth was too dry. If fear hadn't paralyzed his throat, he would have screamed. Vaguely he realized that he had lost something in this surreal situation, because surely, before now, screaming would never have been an option. Jokes and bravado should have been standard operating procedure now, but for some reason they weren't an alternative. For some reason, he couldn't stand the thought of making a joke out of this situation. At least not this time around.

They pawed at him with hands that felt distant but obscene. A drop of sweat ran down the back of his neck, and, outrageously, it distracted him away from the hoard of aliens that surrounded him. He wanted nothing more than to swipe at it and scratch away the itch that followed its path down his skin. He thought he might go mad if he wasn't allowed to reach for it.

And that was when he realized that something was dreadfully wrong.

There were no circumstances that would call for him to be so distracted from the enemy. It just did not happen. Not to him. Despite his frivolous attitude, despite the wisecracks and disarming smile, he was a trained soldier.

The alarming realization that he had; in fact, become so dangerously sidetracked was followed by an even more alarming event. As he wildly fought to scratch and swipe at his own neck, his roving eyes saw Memphis again. The man was leaning between two of the Wraith and looking down on John with a strange smile rocking his lips. His guitar hung comfortably in his hands, and he was loosely strumming it, producing a soothing cacophony of sound. His last hallucination of Memphis was close to the front of his mind, so this time John knew that his old friend was just a dream. He opened his mouth to say so, but Memphis talked over anything he may have spoken.

"Wake up, Shep. They need you to wake up."

And he did.

888

The Colonel shuddered under Rodney's hands, and then suddenly went still. Too still, and Rodney thought that maybe his friend had just died.

A wave of grief swelled over him, and he grabbed frantically at Sheppard's arms, willing to see something, something that confirmed the weight of life in the prone body.

Before he had gone quiet, they had been struggling with the Colonel for what had seemed like an eternity but had probably only been way too long. Nothing had seemed to garner Sheppard's conscious attention, and then the man's muttering had transitioned into almost screaming. The sounds had been so distressing that Rodney had found himself praying for the painful singing to start up again. Trying to quiet him, Teyla had resorted to pressing her hand firmly against John's mouth in an attempt which had been steadily growing futile.

But then Sheppard had become motionless, and now Rodney thought he was dead.

"Carson?" Rodney whispered in a voice that showed he was prepared to be devastated.

Carson didn't answer him, choosing instead to focus more closely on his patient.

"Colonel Sheppard?" the medical doctor questioned.

"Doc?" Sheppard's voice was barely above a whisper, but Rodney heard it, and having heard it almost collapsed with relief.

"Aye, Colonel. Welcome back," Carson said, sharing a reassuring look with the others around him.

"Where?"

"Heading towards the Stargate, Colonel," Carson replied, softly. Rodney demonstrated his doubt of that statement by huffing sarcastically, and he tried not to be too insulted when Carson ignored him. Looking away while shaking his head with irritation, he jumped in surprise when he saw the hostile glare that Torca was directing to him. He resisted the petulant urge to stick his tongue out at her and returned his attention back to the conversation that was taking place between Carson and Sheppard.

As he did so, he couldn't help but wonder why the woman caused him to react and behave like a three-year old child.

"How are you feeling?" Carson asked. It seemed, to Rodney, that this was the stupidest question he had ever heard. He was about to tell Carson so, when Sheppard roused himself enough to answer.

"'m okay."

Rodney huffed again in disbelief and felt the need to express just how much of a lie that statement was when Beckett squeezed his arm so tightly that he was forced to just shut up. After he swallowed a couple of breaths of cold air, he shot an angry look at Carson, but mellowed down after seeing the mollifying look in the doctor's eyes.

"All right, Colonel," Beckett said, while continuing to watch Rodney carefully. "But I think you should take a minute to catch your breath before we go any further. Ronon's gone off to scout ahead, so you've got a little time."

Sheppard only nodded, and it was then that McKay noticed how the incapacitated man's respirations were too deep and too fast. He was taking in huge gulps of air that didn't seem to make much of a difference to his obviously failing physiology.

Alarmed, Rodney was intent on reaming Carson and his medical degree out for his ridiculous agreement to Sheppard's self-diagnosis when Carson indicated that they should all follow him a meter or so away from where Sheppard lay on the cavern floor.

"No, Rodney, he's not okay," Carson said in a harsh tone before Rodney could even make a suggestion about the doctor's lineage. "I'm not daft. He has to believe that he can go on to the Stargate, or else he hasn't got even a slim chance of surviving to make it out of this nightmare. He's too weak, verging on shocky, and I'm beginning to think that the hallucinations are now also being caused in part by oxygen deprivation. He's in grave condition, but we can't let him know that."

The grief returned in full force, and Rodney could only nod as his chest tightened with it. Teyla asked a question that Rodney was willing to admit was probably important, but that he just couldn't seem to concentrate on. His mind was fuzzy and blank for a little while, and when he came back to himself it was to see an obviously agitated Ronon standing before him. He couldn't remember when the Satedan had returned or how the conversation about Sheppard's health had ended.

Ronon was staring at him with a weird look on his face, and Rodney pulled himself together well enough to see that the big man's mouth was moving as if he were trying to communicate something. Suddenly, a whooshing noise filled his ears, and the ambient sound that he hadn't realized had disappeared, abruptly returned.

"—you hear me? I said we have another problem!"

Ronon was shouting, but it took some time for the words to reach Rodney. When they did, Rodney discovered that he just wanted to go back to that fuzzy and blank place.


	16. Chapter 16

The Weight of an Oath – Chapter 16/17

"Problem? What? What problem? What are you talking about? A problem?" Rodney knew that he was babbling again, but he just couldn't seem to stop it.

"Three tunnels and a bunch of squiggly lines that look like language of some sort," Ronon brusquely said, ignoring Rodney's rant. "I thought that maybe you could figure out what the writing says."

Rodney took a minute to digest the information, and then carefully looked at Sheppard. There was no way the man was going to make it if they had to go on an extensive spelunking expedition. Ronon, remarkably, was right. Sheppard's only hope for a speedy transfer to the 'gate—provided that there was a 'gate in the first place—was for them to focus their efforts on one course of action. On one of three tunnels.

Why did he suddenly feel that Einstein was wrong, and that God did play with dice?

Possibly because Einstein had never found himself on the edge of another galaxy in cahoots with three aliens and a sheep-herding doctor to save the life of a glorified genetic mutant.

Okay, so that wasn't fair to Sheppard—or to Albert, for that matter—but, damn it! He suddenly hated the Pegasus galaxy and all of its over-rated wonders.

It only took Rodney's brain a moment to rifle through all of the worries and anxieties brought up in instances such as these, and the routine of it all had him settled down and able to react. He refused to consider how crazy his life had become or how ridiculous it was for that adrenalized spike of anxiety to have become routine.

"Okay, yeah, sure," Rodney said dully. He stood up from where he had been hunched by Sheppard's side, took two steps away from the man, and then paused. A look of pure irritation settled in on his face, and he turned around to address Torca.

"You'd better come along," Rodney said, not bothering to hide his annoyance. "It could be a Netharian inscription that you might be able to decipher."

Torca's face took on a look of exasperation that matched Rodney's. But she graciously nodded a quiet farewell to Carson and Teyla, clutched Sheppard's shoulder for a moment (it was an action that had Rodney's ire up again) and faced the subject of her impatience.

"After you, Doctor McKay," she said, motioning him forward.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Rodney said, and wordlessly followed Ronon to the source of their newest problem.

888

The atmosphere shifted, and John suddenly felt as if the space around him had emptied. Before the subtle change occurred, he had been following Carson's instructions to relax, to just breathe, to gather his strength. Now, however, he wanted to see what that shift in the air around him meant but found that it was a struggle to open his eyes, especially since he hadn't realized that they had drifted closed. But after some time, he managed the task and tried to focus his beleaguered eyesight so that he could determine what had been altered.

"Hello, Colonel. How are you feeling?" It was Carson who was speaking, but John's world was still a blurry mess. A blob of light and dark settled in the center of his field of vision, but he had to blink several times to clear his sight before recognizing that the doctor was hovering over him.

He couldn't find the strength to both answer Carson's question and take a look around, so he settled on the look around. Immediately he saw that Rodney, Ronon, and Torca were missing, but it took his oxygen-deprived brain some time to process the information. When it did, John felt a jolt of fear speed up his already stressed heart and cause his breathing to worsen.

"Where…where's…Rodney? Ronon? What's going…on? " he asked between desperate gasps for breath.

He felt Carson immediately grab his wrist and press it against his rib cage so that he could simultaneously gauge his pulse and rate of respiration. He also felt a soothing hand run its way through his hair and was startled to find that it belonged to Teyla, who was wearing an expression on her face that he had never seen before. What was that? Was that _fear_?

If Teyla was frightened, then things had definitely taken a turn for the worse. And Carson hadn't answered him yet.

"Rod…ney?" he asked again, and realized that that was all the vocalization that he was going to be capable of for a while.

"He's fine, Colonel," Carson answered, too slowly for John's liking. "He and Torca just went up ahead with Ronon to see what's what. We're almost home. You just need to calm down and let us take care of you."

Something was placed against his mouth, and cool liquid drained into his throat, choking him and making him gasp harder for air. He closed his eyes since they weren't helping him see much anymore, and since it was taking entirely too much energy to keep his eyelids open.

"Shhhhh. It's okay, Colonel. I just need you to relax. Stay calm," Carson said in an attempt to soothe his failing patient.

Calming down was easier said than done, and Sheppard remained tense until Rodney, Ronon, and Torca came back some moments later.

He heard them coming, because Rodney and Torca were quietly arguing again. He never did see them, though, because his eyes had closed. They remained closed when the bickering abruptly stopped, and even when he heard Rodney's voice, more subdued, shuddering out nervous questions.

"Carson, what the hell happened? How can he be so much worse? We were only gone for a few minutes!"

John wanted to open his eyes to find out who Rodney was talking about, but he just couldn't seem to accomplish it this time. He wondered about the quiet fear in McKay's voice. Wondered why everyone around him seemed to be so afraid all of a sudden. It wasn't like Teyla to show fear, and that tone in Rodney's voice, that awful, pained tone, he'd never heard that before either.

But he didn't have too much time to consider these things, because then, for some reason, his breathing got all wonky and difficult, and his body decided that it was just best to shut down for a little while.

888

Carson was trying to make Sheppard more comfortable and had just noticed another ulcer on the skin of the man's right arm when Rodney and Torca returned with an obviously annoyed Ronon. The engineer and Netharian were arguing in tight whispers, but Carson was too preoccupied with the Colonel's increasingly labored breathing to be overly concerned about what had provoked the heated discussion.

Suddenly the conversation stopped; however, when Rodney apparently caught sight of the Colonel.

"Carson, what the hell happened? How can he be so much worse? We were only gone for a few minutes!"

Rodney's voice was surprisingly restrained, but there was no missing the panic that was lacing it. And Carson understood. The Colonel's condition had quickly taken a drastic turn within minutes. A sudden fever was slowly making ground, and sweat covered Sheppard's entire body, dampening his clothing and his hair. The man was shivering uncontrollably, and Carson was concerned about dehydration. In fact, he had been attempting to force water down an increasingly non-responsive Sheppard, when Rodney and the others had returned.

He was about to answer Rodney's question when the Colonel's breath stuttered and stopped. Full-fledged panic came over Carson, and his entire attention returned to Sheppard. He listened carefully to the Colonel's chest and determined that his heart was still beating, but that his respiration had stopped. He shook the Colonel hard, and when Sheppard's breathing did not resume, tilted the Colonel's head back, leaned down and blew two puffs of air into the ailing man's mouth.

He had to perform two more repetitions of the rescue breathing before Sheppard coughed and spontaneously drew in air. Relief flooded through Carson, but he maintained fixed attention on the Colonel's respiration and heartbeat. Sheppard's condition was tenuous at best, and he wanted to act quickly if things deteriorated again.

"I need another oxygen injection," he said demandingly to Torca. Her face was pale and drained of expression, when she hastily handed over the object that he requested.

Carson immediately injected the contents of the syringe and watched as Sheppard's breathing evened out and eased slightly. Carson then felt all of his energy leave him and sat back to lean heavily against the cavern wall.

"We need to get him back to Atlantis now. I'm not even sure how he's survived this far," he said bluntly to the others. "If he hadn't been in such terrific physical condition before this had happened, he would have been dead hours ago."

His companions seemed just as disturbed as he was by the knowledge of Sheppard's grave condition, but Carson saw determination harden each of their features. Their unwillingness to give up on one of their own was what had kept this bizarre mixture of personalities together and made it a successful team. That same resolution was the only thing allowing Carson any level of hope for the Colonel's health.

"There is a Stargate here," Rodney said. There was no inflection of irritation in his voice. No retaliation on Torca. No comment on possible problems. Just grim determination.

"Thank the Ancestors," Teyla muttered under her breath.

"Yeah, I had a similar thought," Rodney shot back grimly. "There's also a chair with a presumably working ZedPM, but I don't suppose—"

"We need to get Sheppard back," Ronon stated brusquely.

"Yes, that's what I was going to say. We need to get Sheppard back. That's our priority," Rodney said, quickly agreeing. Carson felt a moment's worth of incredulity at McKay's easy agreement to ditch the possibility of retrieving the ZedPM. The power source was desperately needed by Atlantis, and it would be difficult for Rodney to have to put its consideration aside.

But it seemed that the life of Colonel Sheppard had taken precedence for them all.

"There are also Netharian guards here," Ronon reported. "They came out of one tunnel and entered the one that led to the chair. We'll have to assume that the Stargate will be guarded."

"And how are we supposed to take on a group of armed guards when we don't have any weapons to speak of?" Carson asked, beginning to feel like the universe had something against them all.

"From what I can tell, it's just a light reserve of guards. They should be easy for us to take care of," Ronon said with a somewhat evil twinkle to his eye. The Satedan looked to Teyla for confirmation of his statement, and she nodded without hesitation.

"Trust us, Doctor Beckett," Teyla said, and Carson saw a warrior where there recently had been a woman, frightened for her friend.

888

"It's amazing really," Rodney said in a whisper as they carefully walked down the corridor that led to the three tunnels. Sheppard groaned, and his breath hitched just a bit, causing Rodney and Carson to abruptly stop walking in order to assess their human burden. But the Colonel continued breathing almost immediately, and Rodney readjusted the man's weight over his shoulder before both men proceeded down the natural hallway.

"What's amazing?" Carson asked, needing the distraction that Rodney's nonstop theorizing could supply. He hefted Sheppard's arm more tightly over his own shoulder. The man's lean muscle made him heavier than he looked.

"Well, the inscriptions along each of the three tunnels are in Ancient. Pure, unadulterated Ancient. No Netharian pollution of the language."

Carson heard an angry sigh from Torca who was walking behind them and shook his head at the amazing level in which McKay was able to annoy her. Although it was true that Rodney had a singular skill in driving everyone around him crazy, it appeared that his talents were exceptionally honed on the Netharian woman's nerves.

"I'm not as fluent in Ancient as Elizabeth is, but from what I could tell Netharia was established by the Ancients as something akin to a prison colony. Sort of like a Pegasus version of Australia."

"You have no proof of that statement, Doctor McKay!" Torca hissed.

"It makes perfect sense," Rodney whispered harshly back. "Besides, you can't even read Ancient, so you have no idea what you're talking about."

Torca fell silent, and Rodney huffed smugly.

"Why does it make perfect sense?" Carson asked, suddenly curious.

"These people have an enormous amount of technology that is closely related to Ancient technology. And they're able to activate Ancient devices as well. In addition, they know very little about their historical origins. If this planet is one big Ancient prison, it kind of makes sense that the Netharian ancestors would want to hide the big skeleton in their closet and erase foundational records."

"You cannot be sure of this information," Torca whispered angrily. "You are not even certain of your level of understanding of the language of these Ancients. It is most likely that you have misinterpreted the writings!"

"You're just upset because you just found out that your highfalutin, hoity-toity, better than everyone else society is really just comprised of the progeny of criminals who were tossed out on their collective asses by people who had a better moral standing. Don't take your disappointment out on me!" Rodney whispered. Carson thought he sensed a bit of glee emanating from the scientist. "Besides, what are you going to say about my capabilities of understanding Ancient when I lead us to the Stargate, hmmm?"

Torca seemed too upset to respond, but Carson supposed that her silence could have been due, in part by the scathing glare that Ronon directed at the bickering scientists.

"We're almost there," the ex-Runner said in a hushed whisper. "Shut up!"

After that, conversation dwindled.

888

Sheppard's breathing became affected for a moment while they waited in the darkness of the middle tunnel for Ronon to return from scouting out the area around the 'gate.

There was actually a 'gate. A Stargate. A way to escape from this world ruled by fear and ego and questionable ethics. A way home.

The relief that Carson was feeling was interrupted when the Colonel's breathing caught in his throat, but after a heart-racing instant, Sheppard rallied.

They needed to get back to Atlantis. Now.

It was no longer a matter of time before Sheppard's body failed. It now was an imminent certainty.

"Where the bloody hell is he?" Beckett whispered fiercely. He couldn't help it. He just couldn't.

Rodney opened his mouth as if to respond, but before he could, Ronon was back and looking remarkably optimistic.

"Stargate's there. Looks just like the one at home," he said. Carson took a second to marvel at the idea that the wild Satedan considered Atlantis his home, but then concentrated on Ronon's next words. "Only two guards. Looks like they're not expecting visitors. We should be able to take them easily."

Teyla tensed and prepared for the confrontation, but Carson minutely relaxed. Maybe this was going to be easier than they had all thought it would be.

"Stay here until one of us gives you a signal," Ronon instructed, and then he and Teyla left.

"Signal? What signal? They didn't even tell us what signal they were going to use!" Rodney appeared to be as insulted as he was concerned.

"Don't worry, Rodney. I'm sure we'll figure it out," Carson said, and then placed his hand against the Colonel's ribcage to more closely monitor his breathing.

"I'm just saying that it would be nice to know what the signal is," Rodney said, petulantly.

Carson refused to respond and maintained his attention on his patient. It was during the quiet of the wait that what he deemed a fairly important question came to him.

"Uh, Rodney, where exactly are we going to 'gate to? Torca, helpful as you were, lass, only brought us my medical supplies. We have no way of contacting Atlantis to let them know that they need to lift the shield."

"Shield? What shield?" Torca asked, unable to hide her innate curiosity.

"Our Stargate has a force field associated with it to keep out all sorts of nasties. Only problem is, it's going to keep us out as well if we have no way of contacting Atlantis and letting them know our intentions," Carson explained with a shrug that no one could have seen.

"Yes, and thanks ever so much for not bringing our equipment. This is a serious problem that could have been avoided if you had just brought us our headsets!" Rodney's comments were unmistakably directed at Torca.

"How can you be so ungrateful!" Torca exclaimed. "If it wasn't for me—"

"Ungrateful? Ungrateful! What the hell do we have to be grateful for! If it wasn't for you and your people we'd never—"

Rodney's bitter comments ended so quickly that Carson nervously reached for the man.

"Rodney? Are you okay?"

His concern was met by the unmistakable sound of fast-snapping fingers.

"What's the date?"

"The date? What are you going on about now, Rodney?" Carson asked, trying to process the non-sequitur.

"The date! The date! What day is it?" Rodney asked in a tight whisper.

"Uh, I'm not sure Rodney," Carson said, deciding to just humor the physicist. "Torca, lass, how many days have passed since the Colonel and his team came to your world?"

"It has been almost four days now, Doctor Beckett," Torca stated, stoically.

"Four days. Okay, four days. All right now. Accounting for the differences in planetary rotation, it's been almost three Atlantis days," Rodney began to babble but stopped abruptly. "Jesus, three days. They must be going crazy looking for us. God, I hope they didn't send anyone. What do you think would have happened?"

Rodney continued to babble along in this vein for quite some time, and although Doctor Weir's intentions had been something that Carson had become chronically worried over, he knew that now wasn't the time to be distracted by how Atlantis' leader was planning to act.

"Rodney, why are you going on about the date?" Carson asked, interrupting and thereby forestalling Rodney's anxious tirade.

"Oh, that's right. Hmmm. Three days. Oh! This will work. Major Lorne should be exploring MXP-339. I know, because I sent Zelenka with him to study an energy reading that the sensors picked up," Rodney's voice was a triumphant murmur. "Zelenka isn't going to be too happy with me, given that those energy readings were situated in the middle of a swamp, but I know the address. We'll just dial up the planet and then hitch a ride back to Atlantis with the Major!"

It sounded like a half-hatched plan to Carson, but given the fact that their presence here, so close to escape, was based on a plan that wasn't even half-hatched, Carson figured that they could risk it.

"Good idea, Rodney," Beckett said, tiredly.

"All of my ideas are good!" Rodney replied, smugly.

Carson felt Torca tense up at his side, but before she was able to garner any momentum for her sharp tongue, Teyla was softly calling for them from somewhere further down the tunnel.

"Come on, Rodney. Help me with the Colonel," Carson instructed.

Rodney groaned, began to complain about his back, but helped out anyway.

888

"This isn't supposed to be happening!" Rodney said, ranting as if someone had interfered with his dinner plans. "We're supposed to just dial the 'gate, find Lorne and a seriously pissed off Zelenka, and then go home! It's supposed to be that simple!"

Rodney tried to dial the Stargate again, but got the same result. Meaning, no result. A device he'd never seen before on any 'gate continued to blink red, but that was about all the action the Ancient equipment was offering.

When Teyla had beckoned them to the 'gate room, Rodney had had certain expectations. He had expected to see Ronon standing over two unconscious guards and had been thrilled to find that prospect met. He had expected to see a working Stargate and, again, had not been disappointed. Lastly, he had expected to see a functional DHD, and although there actually was a powered dial-home device at the end of the tunnel, the functionality of the damn thing was suspect.

"We need to get out of here now, McKay. There are more guards scattered around these caverns," Ronon said, and then lifted up one of the projectile weapons he had confiscated from the guards. "And two guns aren't going to protect us for long."

"It's not as if I'm not trying!" Rodney exclaimed, abrasively. He appeared to think for a moment, and then beckoned to Torca. "Hey, you, come here now. Maybe you can deactivate it."

Torca bristled at the command, but a gentle smile from Teyla and the knowledge that Rodney was the only person standing between her and imprisonment by her people placated her a bit. Frowning, she walked to the DHD, and then placed her hands on the device like Rodney indicated.

"Just think 'off'," Rodney instructed.

Torca did, but the red light continued to flash, and the Stargate remained inaccessible.

"Okay, okay," Rodney muttered, continuously snapping his fingers. "Maybe it's Ancient, and I just can't activate it."

He refused to acknowledge the smug look that Torca was directing at him.

"Carson, you try."

Not especially thrilled with having to play around with Ancient technology, Carson didn't leap to the call. But after considering the dire condition of Colonel Sheppard, he slowly walked to the device and placed tentative hands on it.

"Off. Just think 'off'," Rodney commanded.

Carson did, but still nothing happened.

"You're not concentrating hard enough," Rodney accused.

"Well excuse me if I find myself a wee bit distracted right now, Rodney!" Carson exclaimed unhappily.

"Never mind," Rodney said, curtly. "Just try again. There's got to be some way to deactivate this locking mechanism."

"Why would there be a locking mechanism on this Stargate anyway, Rodney?" Carson asked, still unhappy about being bossed around.

"What do I look like, Carson? An anthropologist? How the hell should I know?" Rodney snapped back. But then a look of realization crossed his features, and Carson prepared himself for a drawn out explanation. "Probably to keep the criminals incarcerated. This must be the original 'gate. The one that the Ancients brought the prisoners through. I guess it's conceivable that the criminals could construct a new 'gate, meaning the one in the city, but that's pretty amazing. I mean really—"

Carson noticed Torca bristling again, and since another argument between the two scientists would have been detrimental to progress, he intervened.

"That's great, Rodney. But this isn't working. Apparently it's not happy with the condition of my ATA gene."

"You're right. This is all making sense to me now. The Netharians can operate Ancient technology, but Sandrina never gave me time to determine just how much Ancient technology they could activate," Rodney's words grew acerbic as he remembered his initial excitement about the work he had started with the Netharian scientist. "And my ATA gene doesn't always work on these things, and it looks like yours isn't doing much better. That means that our best candidate for deactivating this damn thing is—"

"Rodney, no. He's in no condition to—"

"Carson, we have no choice. It's either get Sheppard to deactivate this device or stay here and wait for the bad guys."

"He's unconscious, Rodney!"

"Well, maybe he doesn't have to be conscious to deactivate it. Ronon, you want to help us out here?"

Teyla took Ronon's place near the unconscious guards, and Ronon, looking somewhat more annoyed than he had before, bent to pick up the Colonel. He brought the unconscious man's body to the DHD, and then placed one of Sheppard's limp hands on the device.

Nothing happened.

Rodney looked grim.

"Carson, do you have any stimulants in with those medical supplies?"

"Rodney, no. He's in grave condition. Who knows what a stimulant will do to him."

"Carson, we don't have any choice."

"Doctor Beckett, what Doctor McKay says is true. We have no choice," Teyla said serenely. "And I am sure that Colonel Sheppard would want to attempt to help if he were conscious."

"See, even Teyla agrees with me!" Rodney said, although his voice held little vindication, and too much depressed bleakness.

"All right. I know. You're right. Let me see what I have on hand."

After that it was just a matter of loading a syringe with the adrenaline he found in the medical supplies he had with him and injecting the substance into Colonel Sheppard's blood stream. He also injected the last dose of the Netharian oxygen, all the while cursing under his breath.

When Sheppard eventually stirred and opened his eyes a slit, they heard noise coming from the tunnel that led to the 'gate room. Ronon immediately took a position on one side of the 'gate room entrance while Teyla stood on the opposite side.

"Please! Don't hurt them!" Torca begged. "There's a stun setting on those weapons. Please."

Ronon didn't look to happy about changing the setting, but reluctantly did so after a hard look from Teyla.

Rodney and Carson were too busy trying to fully rouse Sheppard to take much time being concerned about the military situation that was slowly growing around them. Instead, the two of them hoisted up the disoriented Colonel and dragged the breathless man over to the DHD.

Seemingly dazed, Sheppard stared at the flashing lights in front of him. He appeared completely oblivious to his surroundings, and Rodney saw the beginnings of an ulcerated sore on the man's face. Rodney scowled in frustration and worry, and then ducked as shots were fired near the room's entrance.

"Off! Think off, Sheppard!" McKay yelled over the barrage of sound that now surrounded them.

Sheppard's breathing was beginning to break down, and Carson bit his lip in frustration. He was about to insist on settling the Colonel back down on the cavern floor, when Sheppard suddenly grabbed onto the alien device on the DHD and closed his eyes.

The flashing red light softened to a blue glow.

Sheppard's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he collapsed.

Rodney desperately dialed the 'gate.

888

"Don't shoot! For the love of all physicists, don't shoot!" Rodney exclaimed when he saw too many P-90's pointed at him.

"Doctor McKay?"

The query came from Major Lorne who was staring at Rodney as if he had toilet paper stuck to his shoe. Rodney rolled his eyes with disgust.

"Yes, of course it's me! Who the hell else were you expecting?"

Lorne just looked confused, but Rodney ignored the dull expression on the Major's face, instead focusing his attention on the others who stepped out of the 'gate.

"Close the 'gate! Now!" Rodney exclaimed when all of his companions had successfully made the transport from one planet to the other.

"Doctor McKay, what are you doing here? What happened to Colonel Sheppard? What the hell is going on?" Lorne asked after giving the order to disconnect the active wormhole.

"I would love to answer all of your questions, Major," Rodney said, exasperated. "But there's a pretty big chance that some mean, nasty bad guys are going to redial to this planet to find us. I'd like to be somewhere else when that happens."

"We were just getting ready to return to Atlantis," Lorne said, suddenly understanding the seriousness of their situation.

"Well, time's awastin'. Let's get moving," Rodney said, beginning to feel the effects of the strain he had been under. His legs felt decidedly noodleish, and he wondered how long he was going to have to wait to collapse.

Zelenka, filthy and stinking of swamp water, stepped in his line of vision, and Rodney groaned. He couldn't. He just couldn't do this right now.

"Radek, I promise to take the backwater assignment of your choice if you just keep any comments you may have to yourself right now. Please, I can't take it," Rodney said, disliking the begging quality to his voice.

Radek didn't seem entirely happy yet, but Rodney could see that he was realizing the potential of such a deal. He wondered if he had completely screwed himself.

"Fine," the swampy smelling physicist said, and the Stargate whooshed into life behind them.

Afraid that the Netharians had managed to redial before they could contact Atlantis, Rodney jumped in alarm. But then Lorne was standing by him, smiling broadly.

"It's good to have you all back," the Major said, cheerfully. "Let's go."

Ronon grabbed Sheppard and entered the event horizon. Torca sticking close to Teyla followed, and then Carson and Rodney, sharing a look of concern, stepped into the seeming pool of water.

When Rodney exited the Stargate, he saw a medical team already surrounding Sheppard.

"Okay, I got him here," McKay said casually to Carson who was still standing next to him. "Now you go fix him."

88888888888888

**A/N: One more to go! Whew! I hope that you all enjoyed this chapter:) Emrys**


	17. Chapter 17a

**A/N: Yeah, it's me. And, well, yeah, I suck. It's been so incredibly long since I've updated this, but you'll be happy to know that this story is COMPLETE! I just need to clean up the last eleven pages and then I'll be posting them…probably later tonight or tomorrow. Thanks be and hallelujah! I really appreciate y'all sticking with this monstrous fic, and I do apologize. My writing has been taking a transformative turn, which has complicated things for me a bit. Plus I've also been kept busy with various other writing projects. And if a character named Dean Winchester doesn't stop smirking coyly in the general direction of my mind, I may go insane.**

**Really, I'm very grateful for all of your kind words and feedback! And I promise that the next (and final) chapter will be up by tomorrow (Oh, yeah, that's right, in the last installment I had said that there would only be one chapter left, but for artistic reasons I split it in two).**

**I hope y'all enjoy this! Much love! Emrys**

_The Weight of an Oath – Part 17a_

"Aye, well, it looks as if the bone marrow transplant is beginning to help a mite," Carson said with a tired sigh. "And the blood transfusions are working reasonably well. We were able to take him off the respirator early this morning, since his body is maintaining enough clean red blood cells to keep him fairly oxygenated."

"Thank God," Rodney muttered.

"Aye," Carson said, solemnly. "The initial intubation would have been easier on him if we could have sedated him, but his system was still having a hard time processing the Netharian drugs. I'm sure he's thankful to be off the respirator."

Elizabeth Weir allowed herself the small luxury of relief. This had been the first good news that Carson had been able to convey during the two weeks since her most senior team had returned from Netharia, and Elizabeth silently thanked the foresight the SGC had in commanding members of the expedition to self-donate specific cells in case of unforeseeable emergencies. The bone marrow transplant would never have been possible without the self-donation that had been required at the beginning of the expedition.

"It's not all good news, though," Carson said, and Elizabeth felt herself physically bracing for what was to come.

"That cold he caught is turning into pneumonia, there's no doubt about it now," Beckett reported. "It's not responding to the broad spectrum antibiotics, so I'm going to put him on antiviral medications. If we can't get the infection under control, he's probably going to have to go back on the respirator when his breathing becomes compromised by the illness."

Elizabeth felt cold dread settle into the pit of her stomach and not for the first time in these two weeks wondered if she shouldn't send John back to Earth. The resources of the SGC far outweighed those of Atlantis, but the lack of understanding that the SGC physicians would have for Sheppard's complex medical history had, thus far, forced her hand. She and Carson had mutually agreed that the Colonel's best hope lay in the Pegasus galaxy where Beckett had control over his treatment.

"How the hell did he catch a cold anyway?!" Rodney exclaimed, obviously distraught. "He's covered in plastic, you won't let anyone near him, and he's being pumped full of antibiotics!! What the hell use are you anyway, Carson? Nothing you do seems to help him!"

Rodney had insisted on being a part of these daily meetings, and Carson, normally one to protect the privacy of his patients from other members of the expedition, had seen fit to allow the access. After taking a hard look at the physicist and seeing the signs of increasing exhaustion darkening the hollows of his face, Elizabeth understood, and, not for the first time, silently applauded the doctor's wisdom. Although Sheppard's entire team had been through an ordeal on the planet, Rodney's role had been significant. In addition, there was no doubt that the physicist blamed himself for Sheppard's condition and probably thought that if he hadn't been so enthusiastic about visiting the Netharians, Sheppard would never have sustained such a grave physical state. And so, since Rodney's physical and emotional status had become closely tied to the Colonel's, she bowed to Carson's wisdom and allowed his presence.

Now, Carson simply turned his soothing and understanding gaze toward McKay and attempted to calm the man down.

"He's been on immuno-suppressants for two weeks, Rodney. This wasn't an unexpected complication."

"This whole situation is ridiculous!! You're supposed to be his _doctor_. You're supposed to be _helping _him! You're just making things worse!"

Carson was about to reply, but Elizabeth decided to reassert control.

"Calm down, Rodney. Getting excited isn't going to help anyone."

"How can you just sit there and listen to all of this?! Don't you understand what he's saying?" Rodney asked in an excitable tone. "He's saying that Sheppard is going to die."

"That's not what I'm saying, Rodney," Carson insisted. "I'm making progress on counter-acting the Hoffan serum. It's just going slower than I anticipated."

"And why is that?! On Hoff you put the damn thing together using inferior equipment! Why can't you find a way to reverse its effects now when you've got all of this fancy Ancient technology at your fingertips?"

Elizabeth watched as Carson's expression turned guilt-ridden and knew that Rodney was in danger of undermining the doctor's effectiveness.

"Rodney, need I remind you that you are a guest at these meetings? You need to calm down right now, or I will expel you from the conference room."

Her words were said placidly, but forcibly, and apparently Rodney recognized the warning behind them. He settled back into his chair, albeit with effort and muttered a subdued apology to Beckett.

"Carson, is there anything that could help speed up your research?" Elizabeth asked once she was sure that Rodney was back under control.

Carson immediately looked uncomfortable, and Elizabeth knew that he was going to bring up the Netharian again. It had been a source of contention between the two of them during the past two weeks. Carson trusted the small woman, and although Elizabeth understood why, she just could not go along with his estimation of Torca.

In fact, Elizabeth wasn't quite sure what to make of the alien scientist. She was torn between the security risk the woman posed and Carson's valid request to have her stationed in the medical bay to help him with his research. Up until this point, Torca had been placed under room arrest and given limited access to Carson's advancements through data tablets. But Carson had continuously argued that the woman only had the Colonel's well-being in mind, and that she deserved a chance to do some good. He had insisted that her knowledge was the key to saving Sheppard, but Elizabeth had been forced to weigh the decision carefully.

She knew that John would agree with her actions, despite the fact that they placed his life in further danger. He would not want to compromise the security of Atlantis for any reason. It was an argument that she took seriously, and it had been one that both she and Lorne had also agreed upon.

But now. Now with her military commander, her _friend_, so near death, Elizabeth was beginning to doubt her decision.

"Elizabeth, I need Torca's help. Colonel Sheppard won't last much longer in the state he's in, and I won't be able to puzzle this out in time to save him if I work on my own. I understand that your experience with the Netharians was unsavory during the time you were trying to get us all out of there. But Torca is different. She's not like them." Carson's words were earnest, and Elizabeth felt herself being swayed by them.

She paused to consider the options more closely, and shuddered at the memory of cold malice that she was subjected to in her dealings with Setarcos and the other members of the Netharian administration. They had communicated a level of arrogant entitlement towards John and his teammates that still caused the blood to flow through her body in an angry torrent. The audacity with which those people had acted had infuriated her, but what had been worse than all of that was the total impotency that she had felt during the entire ordeal. There had been no way to gain entry to the planet since the Stargate had been heavily guarded and since she had been notified in no uncertain terms that her people would be harmed if any rescue attempt was made. Added to these terrible conditions was the fact that the _Daedelus_ had been entirely too far away to swiftly promote the rescue of the kidnapped members of Atlantis.

It had not been an easy or productive time for Elizabeth.

"Oh for Christ's sake, Elizabeth! He's going to die!" Elizabeth's uneasy reverie was interrupted by Rodney's frustrated outburst. "What's she going to do? Make it worse for him?"

"She's a security risk," Elizabeth said, almost absently and definitely without her usual level of assertion.

"Then put a guard on her! Or better yet, have Ronon follow her around. He makes her nervous. I can tell."

"Rodney! There's no need to be childish," Carson scolded, and then turned his attention back to Atlantis' highest ranking resident. "But he's right, Elizabeth. The Colonel's going to die if you don't allow Torca access to the medical bay and to my research lab. I understand that the situation is untenable, but I don't see that we have much choice in the matter."

Elizabeth sighed heavily and wiped a narrow hand over her face.

"I'll make the arrangements with Major Lorne," she said, tiredly.

888

John was conscious, but he couldn't seem to pry open his eyelids. He heard strange, muffled sounds along with the uneven lilting of a woman's voice, but couldn't make sense of them.

He really wished that he could just open his goddamned eyes.

His body began to react to being awoken by shivering violently and painfully. He wanted to yell out as pain blossomed across his side, but the only sound he was capable of making was an uneven gasping noise that was alarming in its weakness. Fear and pain lent him the ability to open his eyes a bit, but all he could make out was dim light broken by the blurred movement of a body hurriedly moving in his direction. Following the hazy figure as it advanced toward him made him feel nauseous, and he closed his eyes again while trying very hard to keep the queasiness at bay.

He felt the moderate weight of a warm blanket being pulled up and settled around his shoulders. He was too exhausted to try opening his eyes again, but at least the shivering diminished to a level where the pain was manageable. He wished that he could somehow communicate how grateful he was to whoever had adjusted the blanket, but consciousness was slowly leaving him.

The soothing, feminine tones returned, along with a heavy scuffing sound that almost, but not quite, startled him back to full awareness. Then as the sensation of a calming hand stroking through his hair began, he settled down and was unconscious once more.

888

Some unknown time later, a hard, heavy cough shocked him into immediate waking, because the pain that he felt deep in his chest and along his side was practically unmanageable. His vision was wonky, but he could see people reaching for him. The sensation of hands pressing him down into a supine position scared him almost as much as the feeling of suffocation he was experiencing. He swatted at his face, and the weight of something suddenly shifted. Breathing became exceptionally harder, and a pillow might as well have been placed over his face for all the good his exertions were doing.

He heard someone yell, and more hands pressed him down. The pressure started him panicking, but then the weight on his face shifted again, and suddenly breathing was a possibility. He drew in deep, cool bouts of dry air, and started to feel dizzy. His body relaxed despite the fact that he was still being held down and everything in him wanted to fight against the restraint.

"Sh…sh…," he whispered, without truly knowing he was doing it.

"It's all right, son." The words were startling in their clarity, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe them.

"Sh…shit," he whispered, and then was gone again.

888

The next time, his eyes opened only enough to allow for a narrow field of vision fringed by his eyelashes. He blinked heavily, and his sight cleared, but just enough to determine that he was lying on his side. He reached his hand out, and it brushed against a thick veil that shimmered and appeared to be what was contributing to his out-of-focused vision.

Plastic. The bed was surrounded by plastic.

His hand fell lifelessly beside him, and he didn't understand what was going on. He heard the murmur of whispered voices surrounding him, but they made no sense. He felt himself becoming agitated, but he was so weak that there wasn't anyway for his body to really express the distress. So instead of fleeing like he wanted, he had to settle on rolling his eyes around in their sockets.

The pressure of a hand rested on his arm.

"Easy, lad. Easy. It's just us."

The words were a garbled mess to him, but he understood the general message. He attempted to calm down and focus enough to squint and try to make sense of the visual cues that surrounded him.

There was a big orange blob pushing its way through the plastic and leaning over him. He started to panic again, but then his breath stuttered weakly. Bright sparkles of sunbursts overtook his sight, and he felt dizzy to the point of nausea.

"…intuba…now!"

He couldn't make head or tail of the confusing half-words that he heard, but the excitement behind them heightened his fear. He batted uselessly at the plastic and at the orange blob that was still hovering over him. He just wanted to get away and make this all stop.

"John! You have to calm down!"

The words were clear, and the voice recognizable. With them, everything around him stilled. His vision sharpened, and another, smaller orange blob took the place of the first one. He saw a blue light behind blurry glass, and inside there was someone he knew. Someone important. Someone he trusted.

"Liz…beth," he whispered the word and then coughed and wheezed as air was pushed out of his lungs.

"Yes, John. It's me. It's us. You're safe on Atlantis."

He couldn't put together the meaning of each word, because he was in too much pain and because he was just too damn confused. But he understood the message anyway and allowed his body to fall back to the state of slackness that it was demanding.

"John, Carson has given you a stimulant to keep you conscious for a little while. It may make you feel uncomfortable, but he's trying to help you. You need to listen to him now. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

John blinked his eyes slowly and tried to make sense of the wall of sound that had just come out of Elizabeth's mouth. He didn't understand, not really, but he fought the lethargy he was experiencing and nodded anyway.

Elizabeth backed away, and John wondered where she was going. He made a soft sound of protest, because he trusted her and didn't want her to leave. But the other, larger orange blob took her place and he could see that it was Carson in there behind a glass mask and illuminated by the blue light. He hauled a weighted hand up and tapped once on the glass that was in front of the doctor's face.

Carson grabbed the hand and easily brought it back down to John's side.

"Aye, we're wearing the containment suits for your benefit, Colonel. You're immune system is severely compromised, and I want to keep you as far away from any virus or bacterium as possible. Hate these things though. Can't take proper life signs without using the computers," Carson said.

"Wha?" John asked in a choked whisper, because he didn't understand anything that Beckett was talking about.

"Carson, get to the point!" John turned his head slowly to his left, because that was where the harsh voice had come from. He didn't see anyone there and became confused all over again.

"Rodney, would you stop using the intercom!" Carson scolded. Garbled words that conveyed general unpleasantness issued forth from the space on John's left-hand side, but then the abrasive voice stopped. John allowed his head to drift back over to focus on Beckett's face again.

"Colonel," Carson said, suddenly all business. "To a certain extent, our treatments have been successful, otherwise you would already be dead. But your condition is slowly deteriorating. If we don't do something extreme, and I mean soon, well, then, uh—"

Words failed Carson, and although John really couldn't focus well enough to truly comprehend what the man was saying, he had enough presence of mind to make a plea of his own.

"E…end th..is," he stuttered out, and then his throat closed up and that was it; it was all over for the breathing thing. He felt his heart slamming fast and hard into his chest, and he thought, not with complete regret, that maybe it was all over. Maybe all of his pain and the slow suffocation was finally at an end.

People were shouting and scrambling, but everything was going in slow motion for John. Everything was quieting and slowing and fading.

And then, suddenly, everything stopped.


	18. Chapter 17b

_The Weight of an Oath Part 17b_

Medically induced coma. _Christ_, Rodney thought, and shifted on the hard seat of the chair he was sitting on. He was in the upper levels of the medical bay, looking through a long glass window and directing his gaze down to the figure that was lying flat on an uncomfortable looking bed in the isolation room. Sheppard was practically lost amidst all the machines, tubes and personnel that surrounded him.

Rodney had never seen the man look worse than he currently did, but a part of him was very, very afraid that somehow this could quickly change.

Medically induced coma. Rodney hated those three words and the images they evoked. The last person he knew who had been placed in a medically induced coma—and really, how strange it was that he knew more than one—had been Ford. And that hadn't exactly worked out well at all, had it?

But, according to Carson, they had no choice in the matter. And whereas on other occasions, Rodney might have questioned the doctor on the intelligence of such a treatment plan, in this case, he couldn't argue. When Sheppard had surged up from the bed in pain after being injected with the serum that was supposed to reverse this mess, Rodney had decided that he was way, way out of his intellectual safety zone. It was an uncomfortable position, but he had decided that he was just going to have to trust Carson in the matter.

Looking down at the activity in the isolation room, Rodney couldn't push away the memory of Sheppard's reaction to the serum that Torca and Carson had designed. One moment, the man had been motionless and the only sound in the infirmary besides the whispered instructions to medical personnel had been the awful whooshing noise of the ventilator that had been re-introduced to Sheppard's respiratory system. And then, in the time it took to inject a supposedly life-saving fluid into the Colonel's bloodstream, he had thrown himself upwards with his arms and legs flailing, and his eyes rolling wildly in his head.

It had been obvious to everyone in the room that Sheppard had been in pain, and so Carson had made a hard decision.

And now Rodney sat in an uncomfortable chair looking out at his friend who had been placed in a medically induced coma.

"This sucks," Rodney said, and didn't realize he done so out loud until someone beside him shifted and said, "Aye."

Rodney startled a bit, because he hadn't noticed Carson enter the room.

"I thought you were down there with him," Rodney accused.

"I was. Just needed a wee bit of a break. I'll go back down in a moment," Carson said, and exhaustion saturated his voice.

Rodney watched Carson, and when the other man didn't seem to notice, he watched a little more. The doctor was staring through the isolation room window, and McKay easily identified the look of worry that Carson wore. Rodney knew that Beckett hadn't wanted to sedate the Colonel. He had thought it dangerous, because even after a month of this harrying struggle to keep Sheppard alive, the damn Netharian drugs had not been completely metabolized out of the man's system. On more than one occasion, Carson had expressed grave dissatisfaction with that simple fact, and it seemed to be what he was gnawing on now.

"It's been two days," Carson said absently, almost as if he had forgotten that Rodney was in the room. "If we don't see an improvement by the end of the day tomorrow, I'll have to pull him out of it and start working on something else."

Rodney didn't really think there was anything else to work on, but he couldn't bring himself to say so out loud. He needed Carson to keep working, because if the man stopped then so would his friend.

_It'll work_, Rodney said, silently and to himself this time. _It has to._

888

Teyla and Ronon were sitting across from one another in the mess hall, but neither one of them appeared to be eating. Elizabeth understood, because her own appetite was practically non-existent and had been since Sheppard's team had missed that initial check-in from Netharia.

Nevertheless, she had a tray of food in her hands and made a big show of looking positive and full of smiles as she approached the table.

"Teyla. Ronon. How are you both?" she asked, acknowledging the pair with a nod and then sitting down between them.

Teyla looked uneasily at Ronon but apparently decided to play along.

"We are fine, Doctor Weir. Worried about John, but otherwise fine."

Ronon didn't even try to pretend that Teyla was telling the truth. Instead he scowled darkly at the two women and studied something in his hand that Elizabeth couldn't see.

Elizabeth, who knew enough to tread carefully when Ronon was in such an obvious black state, shoved down her trepidation and laid a gentle hand on the Satedan's shoulder.

"Doctor Beckett is confident that the serum he and Torca created will reverse the effects of the moderated Hoffan serum, Ronon. I have to believe that John will be fine." Her words were true, because she didn't know how she would cope with the constant stress of command if she had to relinquish her fragile hope that John would soon respond to the treatment, that the man who had been wasting away in the infirmary for almost a month would recover, that the balance of worries shared would be restored.

Ronon pulled away from her touch and stood so quickly and in such an agitated way that Elizabeth had the impression of a barely contained storm building beside her. He tossed the object in his hand onto the table, and then left the room without looking at either of the two women or saying anything further to them.

Teyla sighed heavily.

"He blames himself," she said, studying Ronon's retreating form. "He knew that something was not right with the Netharians from the beginning. He felt too keenly their interest in Colonel Sheppard. He believes that he should have been more insistent in his suggestion to keep away from Netharia."

Elizabeth found herself blinking away tears and nodding sadly. She understood Ronon and his behavior. Perhaps, she understood him more than she ever had before, because she was the one that had commanded the team to Netharia. She was the one who had allowed the horrible experiments to happen to John. She was the one who ultimately had taken away his vitality and health.

Teyla clasped a strong hand around Elizabeth's forearm and consequently drew Elizabeth's attention away from her self-recriminating thoughts and to the other woman's sad yet steady gaze.

"Let us not forget that it is the Netharians who are to blame for this unhappy circumstance," Teyla said, sagely. "Neither you nor Ronon injected the colonel with the Hoffan serum. Neither of you experimented on him in a way that should not be tolerated by any person of moral fortitude. This is not your fault, Doctor Weir."

Teyla's gaze was strong, and Elizabeth almost believed her words. She nodded her head again and thought that she should check on Rodney and then maybe visit John again.

She stood to leave and noticed that the object Ronon had tossed onto the table was a chocolate bar.

Almond Joy.

Teyla's lips curved in an awkward and cheerless smile as she pocketed the candy.

888

Carson had left not too long ago to be replaced by Torca. Rodney couldn't stand the change, but at the same time he was too exhausted and concerned to get up and leave. If the Netharian woman tried to start a conversation with him, he thought he might walk out, even though he didn't have a clue where he'd go. He wanted to stay to keep vigil over Sheppard, and he felt as if he had more cause and right to be present than the alien scientist did. But talking to the person who he held partly responsible for Sheppard's condition was definitely out of the question.

He was still pondering whether or not he should leave when he heard a muffled sniffling coming from the woman's direction. Dismayed by the noise, he furtively looked toward Torca and saw tears streaming down her face. Her expression was one of abject misery bordering on terror, and something about the naked vulnerability he saw in her caused Rodney to struggle to find something to say.

"What's the matter with you?" he snapped, not realizing that his tone might not be conducive to conversation.

Rodney turned away when Torca swung her tear-stained face in his direction. He couldn't bear to look at her and wasn't sure if it was due to his anger toward her or because she was crying.

"This is my fault," Torca whispered after a moment of cautious hesitation. "I did this."

Rodney's anger swelled, and he couldn't bite back the acerbic words that poured from his mouth.

"Yes, it is."

Torca cringed back and puts a hand to her face. She looked as if she had been physically slapped, and Rodney felt a thrum of glee from knowing that he had hurt her. _She deserves it_, he thought, because she _was_ the one who had done this to Sheppard.

Torca's breathing hitched, and she scrambled away from Rodney. It was almost as if she believed she could reverse the accusation in his words if she could just get away fast enough. Her face was worn with agony, and suddenly Rodney, who had never actually been one to relish eliciting pain in others, was overwhelmed by a sudden flush of guilt.

"Wait. Just…wait," he said to her. His voice was resigned, and she responded to it immediately.

"It's not just your fault. It's your culture. You're society," Rodney said, and although the words pained him, he recognized their truth. "You were taught that what was wrong is right, and you're fighting against that mentality. It's never easy, but you're doing it. You're helping him even though it means that you've been exiled from your home." Rodney stood up and walked toward her. She took one step back, but he made an impatient noise that effectively stopped her in her tracks. "That man down there would respect you for your strength and character. You'll see. When he wakes up." Rodney said the words with uncharacteristic gentleness.

And yet, despite his consolations to her, there remained a part of him that found her presence unbearable. He gave into it and stumbled past her to the hallway.

888

"…chemically attaches itself to the transformed Hoffan serum that is still active in his cells. Renders it inactive. It's truly remarkable."

_What the fuck?_

John didn't know what any of the words meant or even who was saying them. He thought he might be conscious, but wasn't sure because everything was dark. To test the theory, he shifted his head, just a little bit.

Dizziness assaulted him, and he realized that maybe he shouldn't have moved. A light buzzing in his ears became louder, and he thought that, yeah, he was probably conscious but it wasn't going to last long.

"Okay…time…eyes…"

John's hearing proceeded to wax and wane in irregular intervals, but that was okay because it was only mirroring his unreliable awareness.

"Colonel…need…eyes…"

This time the words were clearer, because he was focusing on staying still. The dizziness receded, and he blithely wondered why someone needed eyes.

Something latched onto his shoulder, and he pulled up a heavy arm to swat at it. The dizziness threatened to make a return appearance, but he fought against it. His arm was gently forced down, and he felt the stirring of vague unease. Something uncomfortable and unforgiving was invading the delicate lining of his throat, and he reached up with his free arm to tug at the unpleasant source of the sensation that seemed to stem from somewhere outside of his nose.

His arm was forced down again, and he wasn't feeling terribly happy about it when noise rushed into his head. The sudden return of ambient sound was so disorienting that he weakly fought against the restraints on his arms, throwing in a few feeble kicks for good measure.

"Colonel, you need to open your eyes. Can you do that? Just open your eyes for me." John recognized the brogue of a Scotsman, and his beleaguered brain slowly informed him that Carson Beckett was demanding his full consciousness.

He tried to open his eyes and saw the blurry flutter of his lashes against the stark field of white that lay in front of them. But it was almost as if he had expended too much energy on moving his arms, because he was finding it near impossible to lift the unrelenting weight of his eyelids.

He heard a strange noise, a dull gurgling, and realized that his own mouth was making the sound. It unnerved him, and he wanted it to stop, but the awful groan continued just the same.

"What the hell is the matter with him? You said he'd be waking up now! What the hell is that _noise?_ Did you kill his brain or something, because that just isn't right!"

"Rodney, calm down. The colonel just needs some time to fully wake up. It's to be expected."

_Rodney,_ John thought. _Carson's talking to Rodney._

He wondered if the other members of his team were around and was struck with a strong, sudden wave of homesickness. It seemed too long since he had last seen his family.

Eagerness slowly spiked through him with enough strength to aid him in lifting the terrible burden of his eyelids. He blinked once, and when his eyes fell closed again, thought that they were going to stay that way. But then a hand gently shook his shoulder, and his eyes opened half-way again.

The room was spinning, and he bit back the nausea that was going to send him back to oblivion if there was any justice in the universe. Disoriented, he again raised the mass of his hand and unsuccessfully tried to reach the thing that was shoved up his nose and down his throat. He felt a stab of desperation, because vomiting with the damn thing in place just didn't seem like a good idea.

"It's a feeding tube, Colonel. Leave it be." The command came from Carson, but John didn't listen. He reached up again, but only succeeded in hitting himself in the nose. There was very little force behind the blow, but it was enough to cause his eyes to water.

Hard and unrelenting queasiness skewered him and, feeding tube or not, he was going to blow chunks everywhere. The appalling gurgling sound issued from his mouth again, but it was colored with a hint of desperation that was apparently recognized by Atlantis' chief medical officer.

Unseen hands manhandled him until his body was turned on its side. Before a basin or any other helpful container could be strategically placed, he vomited. There wasn't much to be expelled from his stomach, which was a small blessing that had him feeling incredibly grateful.

"There you are, Colonel. Feeling better now?" Carson asked, but John's world was spinning and all he could do was groan in response.

And then, thankfully, the scales of the universe shifted, and oblivion returned.

888

Carson ushered everyone out of Sheppard's room, and Rodney was seriously pissed about that. They sat and paced for about an hour that felt to Rodney like an interminable amount of time, before Beckett returned looking solemn yet relieved.

"What the hell was that all about?" Rodney shouted, before Carson or anyone else could get a word in edgewise.

"Rodney, calm down. He's okay," Carson assured. Elizabeth, who had been tensely pacing with Rodney, abruptly took a seat in one of the many hard infirmary chairs that were littering the space. Teyla stepped beside her and placed a soothing hand on her shoulder.

"What happened?" Ronon asked in his characteristically blunt way.

"He's fine. The tube was infiltrated with vomit, so I needed to clear it. I also upped the dose of his anti-nausea medication to prevent this sort of thing from happening when he wakes up the next time," Carson explained.

"It's to be expected," Torca unwelcomely added, and just the sound of her voice caused Rodney irritation. "His body is under considerable stress. But he is healing, and these temporary complications will soon abate."

"How soon?" Elizabeth asked, sharply. She was obviously as shaken as Rodney but was back to hiding it well.

"Soon," Carson unhelpfully replied with an apologetic shrug. "I've never done this before, Elizabeth so it's hard to tell. But his stats _are_ improving. We just need to give him time."

Rodney thought about how it had been almost an entire month since they had escaped the Netharians. He was an impatient man, and although he had been reasonably tolerant these past few weeks, he knew that he was just told to be patient one time too many. He was so frustrated that he thought he might be forced into a hissy fit. In fact, a good-old McKay rant was definitely in order.

"Goddamn medical science," he said waspishly. "How the hell—"

His outburst was interrupted when the machines in the isolation room brought everyone's attention back to Sheppard. The well-known cadence of the heart monitor had sped up, and they all simultaneously rushed to the window that allowed them visible access to what was going on. Rodney studied the scene below him for a little while and then turned to Carson who smiled slowly.

"He's awake again," the doctor said, and then quickly exited the room to check on his patient.

"Took him long enough," Rodney muttered, expressing his shock at the good news by twisting his mouth into an ironic smile. With effort, he pushed down the raving words that were practically burning his throat and turned abruptly to be the first one after Carson to file out of the room.

888

Cushioned by several infirmary pillows, John studied the background report on Torca that Lorne had compiled before she had been given access to the infirmary and Carson's lab. He stifled a cough, because Rodney was sitting nearby, and John knew that the physicist would instantly transform into a mother hen if he thought that his friend was having difficulty breathing. John would have to replace the oxygen mask back over his face soon, but he forced himself to wait until after he finished the report. Reading with one of those damn things on was a pain in the ass.

Rodney was working on some damn thing that had him punching away at his laptop and vocalizing a running litany of all the mistakes his science team had made during his absence from the department. John was absolutely sure that almost anyone else would find Rodney's unending tirade annoying, but he was used to the physicist's unending outbursts. In fact, he found them soothing and a sign that all was right with the world. So it wasn't surprising when the smooth flow of words began to ease him into a quiet doze. He fought against the lull of sleep, but quickly realized the futility of the battle. His eyes closed firmly shut, and when the report on Torca fell from his hands, he didn't notice.

Sometime later, a gentle hand shook his shoulder, and he slowly woke to find the oxygen mask in place over his face. He grimaced at its presence, but didn't remove it. His side ached, but nowhere near as badly as it once did, so he pushed its complaints aside.

It was Rodney's hand on his shoulder, and John looked blearily up at the man. He locked a questioning expression on his face which Rodney easily deciphered.

McKay frowned and vaguely pointed to something outside of John's immediate line of vision.

"Your visitor is here," Rodney said unhappily.

John struggled to see past the oxygen mask. At first, all he could see was Ronon's tall and looming form. He smiled briefly at the welcoming presence of the man, but then noticed that Ronon looked just as unhappy as Rodney.

John focused his attention down and saw Torca standing near the foot of his infirmary bed. He didn't really remember her except in the role she had played as one of the people who had experimented on him, and the sight of her caused an involuntary increase in his heart rate. When one of the monitoring sounds around him started to pick up its pace he knew, much to his chagrin, that everyone in the infirmary was listening to the sound of his latent fear.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Ronon said, brusquely.

"I agree with him," Rodney muttered.

Sheppard's body apparently held the same opinion, and he was glad for the oxygen mask because he started finding it hard to catch his breath. Carson hurried his way toward the bed, and things were going to get messy if John didn't quickly get a handle on the situation.

"I'm fine. Fine," he said to Carson and reinforced his assertion with a placating motion of his hand. Carson studied the monitors and his patient for a moment, and John worried that maybe the doctor would cancel the visit. But Carson had agreed to Sheppard's introduction to Torca and so, after noting that the Colonel's stats were returning to normal, he reluctantly left the immediate vicinity.

"I'm fine, Rodney," Sheppard reasserted to the stubborn man who had refused to relinquish his place beside his team leader. "Let me talk to her."

Rodney's frown deepened, but he grudgingly relented and gathered his laptop. He turned an irritated eye toward Torca.

"I expect to find him in exactly the same condition as he is now," Rodney grumbled before he left.

Sheppard eyed Ronon, but the Satedan only set his posture so that everything in his stance showed that he was immovable. Ronon wasn't going anywhere, and Sheppard was just going to have to accept it.

To be honest, John was relieved to have the big guy's intimidating presence near. He wasn't certain what to expect from this meeting, and, although Lorne's report was specific and complete, John knew that words written on a computer tablet didn't always express the entire truth.

Torca followed McKay's exit with her eyes before turning and stepping closer to John. Her expression was both uncertain and smug at the same time.

"Your Doctor McKay does not like me," she stated in a way that immediately bothered John. He removed the oxygen mask, because he felt the need to defend Rodney and didn't want the weakness of the mask impeding the forcefulness of his justifications.

"From what little I remember about the Netharian laboratories, I think he has every right not to like you," John said.

The mask of arrogance that covered Torca's face faltered and disappeared. With a shock, John recognized that the woman was barely sustaining any sort of composure in his presence.

"You are right," she said, and her expression wavered again. John was suddenly afraid that she was going to start crying, and he wasn't sure what would happen if she did.

Feeling helpless, he looked at Ronon who simply shrugged with abject indifference. Not for the first time, John wondered just how close to death he had really been for Torca to have garnered such ill-will from his teammates even though she had reportedly been the one to save them all.

"I'm sorry," John said, at a momentary loss. "That was cruel of me."

"You have every right. What my people did…what _I_ did…it's unforgivable," Torca said. John realized that she had yet to look at him directly. Even when she had first entered with that mask of self-righteousness, she had never initiated eye-contact with him.

"I remember S…S…Sandrina mentioning something about an oath?" John asked, silently cursing himself for stuttering over the hated woman's name.

Everything about Torca's posture changed with his mention of the oath. Her shoulders drooped and her arms dangled heavily. Her head bowed as if she couldn't bear its weight.

"I will do all to protect. In doing so I show my love and commitment to my people, my world, and my life. This is the solemn Oath that binds my heart, my mind, and my very soul. I am nothing if I withhold it, but everything having given it. I will do all to protect," she muttered, gravely. John barely heard the words, but understood their importance.

"Our entire society, our culture, our history, everything about us, is based upon these sentiments," Torca said, still not looking at him. "Everything I am can be found in the Oath. Everything."

John remained silent. His chest hurt, almost as if the starved Wraith was trying to feed from him again.

Torca lifted her head and met his eyes.

"And it is all wrong," she stated, hollowly.

John's mind unexpectedly offered up the vague impression of a young woman with the same eyes as Torca. He dimly remembered the woman staring down at him and speaking kind words of comfort. He coughed at the memory of a dusty floor and recalled the compassion and worry reflected in the woman's face.

"What will you do now?" he asked, only beginning to understand just how much Torca had sacrificed in order to save him.

Torca looked uncertain, and her steady gaze faded. The air of heaviness about her returned, and she shrugged.

"Doctor McKay says that since both of the great Rings on Netharia are now in working order, I may not be able to return to my home world for some time. He mentioned something about a…busy signal?" she said, confused by the unfamiliar phrase.

John understood, and he nodded his head to show it.

"Your Doctor Weir has informed me that your ship, the _Daedelus_ can take me to Netharia, but that it will be some time before it returns to Atlantis. Until then, I was hoping that, with your permission I could stay here."

"Doctor Weir has the authority to do that," John said, oddly unwilling to make the decision.

"She told me that it is your decision to make," Torca replied.

John was quiet for a moment as he thought about how difficult it would be for him to have the Netharian woman in Atlantis during the time it would take before she could be shipped out. He was still experiencing vivid nightmares of being fed upon by the Wraith, of being stared at by cruel experimenters. Even now, he was fighting his own body's automatic responses to Torca's presence. The thought of her remaining in close proximity to him for an extended time was difficult to consider.

And yet the part of him that was programmed to help others was yammering to give her asylum. She had, after all, helped him and his team and, in doing so had betrayed her own people. Besides, she had nowhere else to go.

"What will you do when you get home?" he asked, stalling for time to further consider the options.

"I am not sure. It is almost certain that the Administration will have determined that I was involved in your escape. Their knowledge of my actions could cause me…difficulty," Torca explained.

"Do you want to go back? If you're going to be in trouble, you might want to consider an alternate route," John suggested, curious.

Torca muttered something so softly that John didn't hear it.

"What?"

"I need to make this right," the Netharian said, still quietly but now loud enough for others in the room to hear.

"I don't understand. You saved us. You got us home. Don't you think that counts for something?" John asked, sharing a confused look with Ronon. The Satedan appeared more interested now, but still managed to give off a menacing air despite his mild curiosity.

"You don't know! You just don't know!" Torca said forcibly, and John saw the path of tears streaking the fine features of her face. "My people…the things that they have done…the things they continue to do! It must stop! Oh, my father would be most ashamed!"

Torca's composure cracked completely, and she sobbed openly. John shared another look with Ronon, this time a panicked one and was shocked to see the man's face soften. Ronon took a step that brought him within touching distance of the woman.

The runner's big hand clasped Torca's arm with a gentleness that John would have thought impossible.

"These people can help you," Ronon said, knowingly. He patted the small woman's shoulder once, and looked meaningfully at Sheppard. Then, with no further words, he turned and exited the infirmary.

The room was quiet for a span of a few seconds, but it was enough time for the tension within John to stretch and then break.

"When the _Daedelus_ comes, we'll bring you home," he said, emptily. Torca's sobs increased in their voracity, but she nodded in understanding. "Do you have allies there? Anyone who can protect you?"

"My father's old contacts will aid me," she replied, still sobbing. "I will find a way to fix this. I have no choice."

"We'll help you," John assured her. He reached out, and managed to grab her hand. He thought hard about what needed to be said next. Part of him still fought against the words, but he knew that he needed to say them in order to put this entire mess behind them all. "Your father sounds like a good guy. I'm sure that he would be proud of you now and would find a way to forgive you for your past mistakes." He paused one last time, but then looked the upset woman directly in the eyes before saying the necessary words. "I know I do."

Torca moaned, and then took a few, long minutes to collect herself. John watched as everything about her became lighter and buoyant. She ungraciously wiped her nose and face, and then lifted her head. John saw her dazzling expression.

"You have helped to raise a heavy weight from my heart," she said softly. "I hope to finish what you have started, and maybe one day, our people can be allies."

She smiled, and wiped a few stray tears from her eyes. Then, nodding, she left the infirmary.

After she left, John sat quietly for a while. He brushed a hand down his side, and the wound that was healing there complained with a stiff twinge of pain. He studied his own wasted body, and fought against the depression that physical fragility evoked in him. He breathed the cool oxygen from the mask and could not ignore the heavy ache that still remained within the depths of his chest.

He thought again of the small woman, hovering over him while he lay in pain and out of breath on the cold, grimy floor of an alien mansion. He considered her anguish as she admitted her own transgressions and those of her people. He weighed her vulnerability and courage against her previous wrongdoings and his own pain.

He thought of his own family and of how much he was willing to do for them, and knew that Torca, for all her failings was in many ways no different than him.

John felt one of his own leaden burdens shift and float away. He suddenly felt incredibly tired and let himself drift.

Later, when he woke up, he would find himself smiling at his teammates and friends, and would be satisfied to know that their heavy worries would also begin to ease.

Finis

**A/N: Thanks to you all for reading!!!**

**A/N for everybetty: "Daddy's Little Girl" is next! Wish me luck!**


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